Enchantment
by Annemarie01
Summary: Hawke enters Kirkwall not only with the grief of what she has lost but also with a few secrets of her own. One secret will surprise even herself and the encounter with a Tevinter Elf will not help the situation.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

He was running franticly, trying not to think, not to let the panicking feeling take over. He had killed them all. It had taken just one command to turn against them and slay them. As long as he could remember he had obeyed his master, he never had had another choice. There never had _been_ a choice, he was his master's possession and he had always done as he had been ordered. He hadn't even been surprised he had turned up. Of course he would find him to drag him back to Minrathous and of course he would instruct him to slaughter his saviours. So why had he turned away and ran off after the grisly deed had been done? It didn't just horrify him, it made him mortally afraid. He wasn't supposed to act that way, he wasn't created to act that way.

_No thinking no thinking._

He was covered in their blood and the smell, the more pungent in the stifling heat, made him dizzy and nauseous. He tripped over and retched until he just coughed up pure acid. He stumbled to his feet and made it to a cool rippling brook, not ten yards away. He fell again, head forward in the refreshing stream and drank until he retched once more. He rolled onto his back and lay motionless in the cold water, listening. The jungle around him was full of sound, but there was no hint of pursuing soldiers. Well, he had killed them as well, hadn't he, in his unsettling frenzy. So why hadn't he killed _him_?

No! That was unthinkable, he could not have raised his hand against his master, the mere thought made his panic rise again. Fleeing _from_ him was the most extreme deed _against_ him he had been able to achieve. And even that startled him now.

In the years to come he would ponder that feeling on a daily basis, ever more regretting he had not taken the opportunity of killing Danarius in his most vulnerable moment.

Finally he scrambled onto his feet and made his way to the coast. Little did he know he finally would end up in Kirkwall, the City of Chains of all places, where his life would again take an unexpected turn. A turn that would disturb him in many ways.

She was running, they were all running. Away from the Darkspawn, away from the total destruction, away from death. She didn't want to think of what they were forced to leave behind. The friendly town they had lived in for years. Gone. Her lover. Dead. She didn't even want to think about the future. The only thing that mattered now was survival.

_No thinking no thinking._

She turned when she heard Leandra cry out and was just in time to flail a ball of fire at the horrid creatures that threatened to overwhelm her mother. No Templars here, no need to hide her magic if it could kill faster than her daggers. Her brother gave out a shout of warning while at the same time attacking a group of Darkspawn that suddenly approached from the opposite direction. Another fireball flew, together with an outburst of ice, casted from her sister's staff.

Survival, all that mattered was survival. She had to get her family into safety.

Kirkwall was the last place she had wanted to go, it was a city infested with Templars after all, but they ended up there anyway because of her mother's heritage. Together with a red-haired officer of the shattered Ferelden army they had stumbled upon during their desperate flight. The officer that was, not the army, that existed no more. Aveline was her name, she learned, and she lost her husband on the run because of the taint of the Blight. Just as they lost sweet Bethany to an ogre. Even the surprising turn up of the Witch of the Wild, Flemeth, could not have prevented both heartbreaking events. They arrived at the city weeks later, all of them mourning, grieving over the losses they had to bear. She never could have guessed how many strange and often painful bolts the forthright and sometimes hard-headed Lady of Fate would shoot at her.

Kirkwall had hit him like a hammer. For starters there had been the two statues that had welcomed him while sailing into the harbour. The huge statues of two slaves, bronze figures clung in chains onto the rocks that embraced and protected the port as a natural defence. It had come as a shock, he knew that the city had once been a part of the Tevinter Imperium, that slaves had been hauled down here to serve in the mines and the foundries, but he hadn't been prepared for the bare witnesses of that time, still visible. After that came the smell, well frankly, the stench. Not only the harbour stank but also all of Lowtown, the part of the city he allowed himself to stay in. He had found a cheap tavern to scout from. The harbour had smelled of dead fish and foul water, Lowtown reeked of filth, rats and misery. Not until he had been forced to visit the Undercity, also known as Darktown, the part of Kirkwall where the really desperate were imposed to find a sort of - living in lack of a better word, he had thought that Lowtown was the most dreadful place he had ever seen in his life. The smell of Darktown was indescribable. Disease and death came closest.

Ironically it was both Darktown and Hightown that eventually gave him the answers. In the end Lowtown had little to do with it, although it played its own very significant role. Especially the Alienage he hated the moment he saw it. Being an elf himself, although he had never felt much relationship with any elven community whatsoever, it was almost unbearable to look upon his race which was compulsory to live in this way. Hardly better than slaves, deprived of all dignity, forced into poverty and a life of servitude. Nevertheless he had been given no choice than to use the appalling elven quarter because that choice had been made for him. And the encounter he had in that place would mark the rest of his life. So yes, noticeable after all.

Hightown smelled of expensive spices, rich silk and good food. This part of the city was filled with grand buildings; it held the palace of the Viscount who ruled the city, at least as best as he could, the Chantry where the Maker was worshipped, and numerous wonderful mansions and estates that reminded him of Minrathous although the style of building was completely different. Far less flamboyant. He liked that. The arrogant attitude of the nobles occupying the expensive houses however was yet the same as in Tevinter or in Orlais or the other countries he had visited with Danarius. Hightown also held a theatre, a renowned rather fashionable brothel and several bathhouses. Lowtown was the proud owner of a bathhouse as well and although it couldn't compete with the grandeur of the ones in Hightown he preferred this one.

In Hightown his former master Danarius owned a mansion, so he found out after with much care bribing several persons. One of the bribed informers, paid with stolen money, had told him also that there were a lot of Tevinters in town of late. Slave hunters no doubt. He had never believed that Danarius had been willing to give up on his valuable runaway slave so easily so he wasn't surprised. There was even a strong rumour going the round that his former master would be in town to witness him being recaptured. He acknowledged by then he couldn't do this on his own anymore. He needed assistance. After a significant amount of money had changed hands, he was in the possession of two names. The one who could do the job and had become apparently some kind of a legend in the more inferior parts of the city and the one who was able to put that legend in touch with him. He was no rogue but the years being on the run had taught him some of the abilities. Stealth had almost become a second nature. And so he had stayed in the shadows while overhearing an argument between slave hunters in a by Tevinter's claimed warehouse at the docks. The discussion was about a bait to lure him to a hovel in the Alienage. He was not surprised to receive a message the following day by a young Fereldan boy, who undoubtedly knew nothing about him, or his predicament, but just wanted to earn a few silvers. The boy told him to be present in the Alienage the following night so that he could learn more of his past. There would be a chest that would reveal everything he had lost. Of course he did not believe him. It just made him more alert than before. Apparently he had been spotted.

That same night he moved for the sixth time.

In Darktown he had previously met the dwarf named Anso, the one who had pointed him to the existence of the Tevinters in Kirkwall and now he returned to him to persuade him to perform a little trick to win over the, according to the grapevine, only being in Kirkwall worthy to help him get rid of Danarius and his slavers. Anso had claimed before to know a dwarf in her entourage (he had been surprised to learn the so called legend happened to be female) and how to contact him with the needed delicacy and subterfuge and again a substantial amount of coins changed hands. He could only pray that it would turn out the way he hoped it would. Too bad he wasn't the praying kind. It goes unsaid that he had been extremely cautious with his investigations and thus moved regularly from one cheep watering hole to another. The only place he hadn't used was the Hanged Man and in the end that turned out to be rather ironical.

Her name chimed through the city, at least through the parts that really mattered. Hightown was not a part of it – yet but she had made sure that the reputation of the Red Iron mercenaries had risen since she had joined their ranks. And even though she had by now quit them and tried to make a living of her own, the standing lingered. She was aware of it although she had an ambivalent attitude towards it, to say the best of it. Being famous was damned dangerous for a mage in a city like Kirkwall; it was dangerous _anywhere_ but under the prying eyes of Knight Commander Meredith it became even more hazardous. Even for a mage who acted like a rogue. She had tried very hard to be noticed as a fighter and not as someone with magical powers but she was constantly frightened that her cover would be blown apart. Momentarily she was glowering at Varric.

'This is all your fault,' she scoffed. The blond haired and beardless dwarf threw dramatically his arms in the air. (His chest hair made more than up for the lack of a beard, as he himself was willing to declare on a regular basis. And besides that, he stated, facial hair was only good for collecting leftovers and therefore disgusting. He loathed the idea of smelling all day what he had had for breakfast).

'What, did you want me to be silent about your actions? That would be no less than a sin!' he exclaimed.

'You could at least be silent about my so called love affairs.' At this point Hawke was glaring at him viciously.

'You can't deny you had them,' Varric grinned wickedly.

'Not in the way you describe them!' Hawke protested with force.

They were gathered in the Hanged Man where Varric and the exotic pirate queen momentarily-alas-without-a-ship Isabela both inhabited a room. The tavern had the best name in Lowtown and that said a lot about the other drinking holes. The walls were greasy, the floor covered with grime if not blood and vomit and the ale and whisky had a whole own – special taste. A night without a bar brawl was a very quite one.

'Are you sure? I rather liked them,' Isabela crooned. She licked her upper lip in a very suggestive way. Hawke rolled her eyes. Isabela would like anything even _slightly_ related to sex.

'You _know_ my brother reads your crap and of course is more than happy to pass it on to my mother. This latest fight with her is due to you.' Hawke pointed an accusing finger at the dwarf. Varric raised his hands in defence.

'My dear lady, it was never my intend to offend you. And besides that, I think that you are more than capable to quarrel with your mother on your own account. But let me make it up to you.' He but just smothered a string of curses and he knew it. "I have it from an – acquaintance – that we can earn some serious coin.' Hawke calmed down and raised a brow.

'Let me guess, you got the information from some lost dwarf who just fled the depths of Orzamar to find himself in the loving embrace of our Undercity,' she said sarcastically, 'some wonderful story that will make.' It had been a wild presumption to be honest but by the look on the dwarf's face she had not been far from the truth.

'But with the promise of good coin,' Varric pointed out, 'and yes, Anso is from Orzamar but I believe him far from lost and he isn't living in Darktown. He just has a foothold there for – business. He has been in Kirkwall for over a year now but still has his contacts in the dwarven city. I admit it's the first time I have dealings with him, but according to my connections he is reliable. The only thing we have to do is retrieve the continence of a chest hidden in some hovel in the Alienge. Easy as that and he is paying handsomely for it. Five sovereigns.' Hawke stared hard at him.

'A dwarf with contacts in Orzamar and a foothold in Darktown. You think to fool me? You can tell me blatantly that this is all about contraband. And since your contact _is_ a dwarf with contacts in Orzamar it is undoubtedly lyrium,' she said flatly. Varric kept his face straight.

'I don't know anything about that,' he stated, 'I only had my ear on the money. Five sovereigns, Hawke.' Marian sighed wholeheartedly. Lyrium. If anyone caught them with that stuff, their lives were forfeit. Templars drank the blighted venom to control mages but a lot of them got so addicted to it that the portions the Order allowed were not enough. That knowledge had started a very profitable smuggling business that not only kept the dwarven circle of Carta criminals very wealthy but also attracted a colourful bunch of human pirates and muggers and they all fought among each other for the best share. Between those groups the City Guard did their best to arrest anyone they could put their hands upon. Aveline, who had joined them, would have a heart attack if she heard about this. And besides that ...

'Just empty a chest hidden in the Alienage? It sounds a bit too easy if you ask me,' Hawke said, 'it makes my hackles rise.'

'I must confess I feel the same but we still have our eyes and ears. And I can always rely on Bianca,' Varric replied reassuringly, referring to his trusted crossbow that he never let out of sight. Hawke tapped with her index finger of her right hand on her lower lip.

'Alright, we could use the money,' she finally gave in. 'Care to join us?' she turned to the dark tanned, eccentric – to say the least – pirate, 'of course you will have your share of the profit.' Isabela beamed at her.

'Are you serious? Naturally I will join you. I can never turn down a good profit, or adventure. Or you.' Hawke ignored her sexual teemed grin.

And of course it turned out to be a trap. After swearing about a very empty chest and cursing Anso into the depths of the Void, they found themselves outside the hovel surrounded by an aggressive group of assailants determined to end their lives. It was a fierce but short fight and it could have been amusing if it hadn't been so annoying for the waste of time.

'I have blood on my coat, I hate that,' Varric grumbled after finishing of the last attacker.

'O shut up, dwarf, I think one of my daggers has caught a notch, much worse than a drop of blood on your clothes,' Hawke threw back, 'it will cost me hours of honing and polishing before the blade is in the right shape again. You owe me more than one drink after this debacle.'

'I told you to buy better knives,' Varric retorted. But before they could start a friendly squabble, they were cut short by a very annoyed man who suddenly appeared on the stairs leading down to the Alienage.

'I don't know what you're doing here, but I'll make sure you will regret it greatly,' he growled. Hawke folded her arms and cocked her head to take a good look at him in the dim light that was casted by the moon and the few lit torches in the Alienage. He wore a heavy steal breastplate with the same crest as the soldiers they killed just minutes before but in another colour. She suspected he was a commander of some sort. A cowardly one she decided, commanders belonged with their men in battle. The man had descended the stairs by now and stood glaring back at her furiously.

'Really? I hope you notice the corpses,' Hawke vaguely waved a hand around her, 'so perhaps _you_ should be the one regretting showing up.' He didn't bother to respond her.

'Lieutenant!' he roared, 'get your sorry arse over here and take these jokers prisoner!'

'My, this is a confident one,' Isabela smirked while Hawke started to laugh aloud. She was interrupted by a man, probably the lieutenant, who was slumping down the stairs as if he had been pushed. Besides that he was bleeding heavily.

'Captain,' he croaked before he fell down completely. He stayed motionless, clumsily draped over the steps and never got up again. Before any of them could react, a third voice floated into the courtyard.

It was a voice that sounded like molten dark sugar, like a touch of rough velvet, like a night of incredibly hot sex. It entered Hawke's ears to hit her lower brain and from there on descended down her spine to nestle somewhere deep in her stomach. A voice like that could cause orgies with severe casualties. No one should be allowed to sound like this. What the voice was saying completely passed her over, she was too occupied trying to cope with the sheer reverberation and what it did to her body. It didn't get any better when the owner of the voice came into sight. The first thing she noticed was the shock of pure white, moonlike hair, nonchalantly tousled as if the wind had swept through it. When he moved down the stairs, with much more grace than the lieutenant moments before, his face became visible. A wonderful handsome face, a perfect match with the voice. Large, wide-set eyes – she regretted she couldn't make out the colour in this dusk – dark brows in an astonishing contrast to his hair, a straight nose above sensual curved lips. An elven face, she realised. It was carried by a lanky, lithe frame, long for an elf, clad in leather and steel. His partly bare arms were covered with strange but beautiful looking lines that waved around his taut muscles like vines. He stopped at the bottom of the set of steps and looked at her intently. She was afraid her knees would give way.

_One word, Isabela, _she thought_, just one wrong word and I will strangle you._

_O, for the Maker's sake, get a hold on yourself, you idiot._

'You are going nowhere, slave,' the captain barked, apparently replying to something the elf had said but she had entirely missed. He slapped his hand heavily on the apparition's shoulder. That turned out to be his last mistake. The elf twisted round fast as a viper and the white markings suddenly flared as blue lighting. His spiked gauntlet moved into the captain's body and, Hawke was not entirely certain she saw this right, _through_ it before he withdrew his hand with the same speed. The commander collapsed and his corpse joined with his dead subordinate.

'I am not a slave,' the elf declared coolly while he turned his attention back to her.

_Okay, done with drooling and gaping. Say something and it better be good._

'Nice trick_._ You don't see that being performed on a daily basis,' she managed pretty lamely. He gave her a mirthless smile in return.

'I suppose you don't,' he said, 'it comes with the markings.'

'I admit you don't see those on a daily basis either.' She tried to make light of the unsettling situation but he ignored her remark. Instead he had the politeness to introduce himself and to give at least some explanation of the intriguing circumstances.

'My name is Fenris. The men you have been fighting,' his eyes lingered a short moment over the corpses, 'rather successfully so it appears, were Imperial slave hunters, hired by my former master. I'm sorry I couldn't assist you, but I was hold up by – some resistance.'

'We met him,' Hawke said, her eyes fluttered over the very dead body of the lieutenant before they returned to the elf's more than attractive appearance, 'apparently you took also care of any other aggressors.'

'Indeed I did,' he replied, 'there are more bodies in the ally, if you are interested.'

'I don't need evidence to believe you,' Hawke said. He sounded trustworthy. He sounded much more than that. Knee weakening, heart fluttering and mind numbing. Some more intense glances were exchanged.

'So you are an escaped slave,' Hawke concluded to fill the silence before it became awkward. He looked at her as if he was trying to decide whether she was smart, retarded or willing to turn him in. She gave him her most charming smile in return – she hoped. 'That explains why this whole, er, enterprise was surrounded by such mystifying concealment,' she hasten to clarify, 'I mean, Anso wasn't exactly clear about it at all, that is he made us believe it was all about lyrium, more or less. He should have said it was about fighting slavers in the first place. Kindled enthusiasm ensured.' Fenris raised his brows. _O Maker._ 'I mean, I'm willing to slay slavers anytime.' She felt three inches high by now.

'Very eloquent, Hawke,' Varric murmured, 'I applaud thee.' Blasted dwarf. She straightened her shoulders.

'You could have contacted me directly without using Anso,' she said, 'I would have been more than willing to help you.' He looked at her with that distressing gaze.

'It would be nice to believe you,' he said, 'but my experiences have taught me to be careful although I appreciate your intent. I do however apologise for the diversion and the trouble that it has caused you.' He knelt beside the dead commander and rummaged around in his pockets. He retrieved something that looked like some kind of seal. When he stood up again a mixed combination of anger and agony showed in his face. It almost made her knees buckle. _Shit!_

'It seems that my former master is indeed in the city as I thought. If I don't confront him now it could be too late. I'm afraid I must ask for your aid again.' Hawke was almost certain that the agony was not only due to the presence of this mysterious master but also, and perhaps even more, to the fact that he was forced to ask for help. He seemed not only to be proud, but also suspicious. Probably with good reasons. 'I will compensate you for your time and effort,' he hastened to add.

'Who is this master you speak of?' she asked. Fenris swallowed visibly.

'His name is Danarius, he is a powerful Magister in Tevinter,' he explained. Varric sharply suck in breath. Marian knew what he meant. Tevinter Magisters were not to be toyed with, they for instance used blood magic with the ease a cook used salt. They didn't recoil from human sacrifices, well mostly _elven_ sacrifices as far as she had heard. They gave all mages a bad name. Her father had taught her quite a lot about them, as a bad example not to be followed. And apparently Fenris had been at such a Magister's mercy. Anger struck her.

'I would be more than happy to hunt him down,' she said determinately. She turned to look at her companions, not to ask for permission but to convince them of her decision.

'Well, coin never hurts,' Varric said though he sounded somewhat cautious, 'and I believe I have to make up to you.'

'How much I would like to participate in this inviting adventure with such delightful company,' Isabela started with a hungry look on the handsome elf and Hawke couldn't help glaring at her, 'I'm afraid I have an, er, appointment to keep. But tell me all about it in the morning.' That would be around noon, with luck.

'In that case we should ask your brother to accompany us,' Varric said, 'just the three of us to go after a Tevinter Magister would proof not to be enough.' Hawke sighed. How much she hated the idea, she knew the dwarf was right.

'In that case we will have to make a stop at the Blooming Rose,' she said. She smiled half-heartedly at the elf. 'Don't ask,' she said meekly. And he didn't. He just looked blank.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hawke had been more than happy to leave the remove-grumpy-Carver-from-the-brothel part to Varric. She knew for sure she wouldn't have been able to muster the sensitivity and diplomacy to drag her brother from the establishment without putting up a fight. She would without doubt have made a scene because of lack of patience. While Fenris and she were waiting, she had lowered herself on a crate facing the entrance of the Blooming Rose and Fenris had positioned himself against a pillar. In a very elegant way. She tried not to take notice.

'I do apologize,' she said awkwardly, 'I know time is pressing but we really need my brother. He is a good swordsman with experience, he fought at Ostagar.' She realised damn well she was defending herself more than her brother by saying this. She wasn't ashamed that they had to fetch her sibling from a brothel, but she knew how blunt and, well, insufferable Carver could be. She was afraid he would affront Fenris and hoped the elf would forgive her if he understood that she only dragged Carver along because of his fighting skills.

Fenris nodded knowingly. Not about the complicated relation between her and her brother she suspected.

'You are speaking of the Blight,' he said with that maddening voice that traced down her entrails and resonated against her heart, 'I've heard of it. Ostagar was a forlorn battle wasn't it? I understand Ferelden lost their king there. Almost everyone perished.' That brought back horrible memories but she hardly could blame him. After all she had been the one who had brought it up. To defend her brother. And now she got drenched with unwanted recollections, all of her own doing. She looked away and pursed her lips into a thin line.

'We were betrayed,' she said in a harsh voice, 'by the last one we thought capable of betrayal. When the signal came up, general Logain Mac Tir just turned away and let king Cailan and all of us to die on the battlefield.'

'You were there as well?' He sounded genuinely astounded. She bit down a sharp retort.

'Why are you surprised at that?' Despite her effort she must have sounded more callously than she intended because he hastened to apologize.

'I didn't mean to offend you, but you look more than a rogue to me than a warrior or a soldier.'

'I agree I am a rogue and not really a soldier but the army could use every blade at Ostagar. After all the odds where strained to start with, despite Cailan's optimism.'

Yes, a rogue and it wasn't exactly a lie. She fidgeted on her crate and looked at her feet. How could he know about her hitherto well kept secret after all? (Well kept except for her best friends and family of course). How could he have known about her anxiety back then? There had been mages at Ostagar, she remembered clearly, sent by the Circle. She had been scared as hell to be recognised as being in fact one of them instead of the rogue she pretended to be. She bit her lip nervously.

'To be honest, my brother was too young to fight with the army at that time but he was determent to do so nevertheless,' she said, trying to choose her words carefully, 'of course he lied about his age when he signed up. I didn't want to stop him however, mostly because I knew I would not have been able to. Instead I went with him to protect him as best as I could. I think he will never forgive me for that.' She looked up and gave Fenris a wan smile.

'And it was you who dragged him from the battlefield when the situation had become hopeless,' the elf said perceptively. She shrugged.

'Another of my deeds he will never forgive,' she admitted. She wanted to end this subject; she didn't like it at all. Everything about Ostagar and the Blight still gave her the shivers.

'Tell me about your life,' she said and was surprised to see the sudden change in his demeanour. Had he shown sincere interest in her story, now his features closed with disturbing swiftness.

'There is nothing to tell,' he said reluctantly, 'I was just a slave.'

_Just a slave._ That sounded – awful.

'But you managed to escape,' Hawke persevered, trying to get more information out of him because it indeed fascinated her, 'how did you managed that?' He shook his shoulders.

'I did, isn't that enough?' His face closed some more. Alright, other topic. Again.

'I can't but wonder why that Magister goes through so much trouble to catch one escaped slave. Is it because of those markings?' she asked, looking at the intriguing pattern on his arms and throat, wondering if they meandered across his whole body.

'It is,' Fenris answered curtly.

'Why did he etch those into your skin?' Fenris almost flinched and she immediately regretted asking. It was clearly disturbing him and that was the last thing she wanted. She realised that having a conversation with Fenris wasn't a simple feat. Perhaps she should try to discuss the weather.

'The markings are indeed the reason why he is still chasing me,' he said to her surprise, 'they are made of lyrium, therefore they gave him power,' he added reluctantly. She knew about the power of lyrium but couldn't understand how someone was able to draw that power out of those delicate lines. Undoubtedly it had something to do with bloodmagic. Typical Tevinter. She hated bloodmagic and decided not to press on.

'If there is anything Magisters and mages crave for, it is power,' he however continued grimly, 'and they will use any means to get it.'

Now it was her turn to flinch but she kept it hidden. He didn't know anything about her magic and she didn't know anything about being a slave. She tried to imagine how it would feel to be possessed by someone, to be nothing more than an ownership but she failed gloriously. And apparently he had fallen prey to someone who had used bloodmagic on him. Marked him with his power. With lyrium. Her train of thoughts got interrupted by his voice. It seemed like his previous reluctance was beaten by his anger.

'Danarius called me his pet, his little wolf. He held me on a leach, just to mock me. Or to be more precisely, to mock the Qunari who keep their mages leached. I suppose I must be grateful he didn't have my mouth sowed shut.' Fenris sounded restrained as if he uttered these words with confined fury. She cringed, how in the Maker's name could anybody treat someone in such a way? The Magisters of Tevinter were obviously even more deformed and evil as she already had been aware of. She got a sneaking suspicion he hated magic out of the bottom of his heart and in a way she could understand his loath. But although she was willing to see his point, on the other hand it disturbed her greatly. What would happen if he found out about her magic? How would he react? How could she ever be able to explain to him that most mages outside of the Imperium weren't like this Danarius of his? And why the hell did she bother anyway?

Fenris had stopped talking and she didn't know what to say to fill the silence. She was grateful at the sight of Varric coming out of the Rose with a – of course – fuming Carver in tow.

'This better be good sister,' he growled, 'I was having a very good time.'

'I don't doubt that,' she said coldly, 'but now you can put your _other_ talents at use. We are going to fight a Tevinter Magister.'

The mansion they entered was gloomy and eerie and in complete disarray. Hawke could hardly believe that someone had lived here recently. If so they had made a total mess of it and that didn't fit with the lifestyle of a Magister. They stumbled upon broken tiles, smashed windows, shattered furniture and even some skeletons. And a lot of dust and cobwebs. It looked as if the place had been abandoned a long time ago after some big fight. And very soon they found out it was also infested by shades and demons. They turned up in every room and around every corner. It felt like again another trap. They had no other choice than to go on fighting them. She felt the reassuring presence of Varric and his faithful crossbow at her back and the broadsword of her brother at her side. In spite of their endless bickering they fought together in a fluent motion, they had been training together at the moment Carver had been able to hold a weapon and it paid out. While she was dashing and darting through the rooms, always in time ducking under her brother's sword and luring the enemies towards him by short pinpricks or deftly manoeuvres, or finishing off shades he pushed in her direction, she was able to see Fenris fight. He moved as if his weapon weighted nothing, arching and curving it through opponents with an ease as if he was wielding a dagger. His charges were flowing and elegant and full of confidence, he shifted like a very skilled and deadly dancer. And all the time he was surrounded by a bluish light, casted by his markings. She could not help but admire him greatly. They managed to perform as a wonderful foursome, clearing out room after room, hacking through and killing every adversary in their path.

And then everything went wrong.

Suddenly, on the landing of the second floor, an arcade horror appeared out of nothing, and a very powerful one at that. Hawke tried to shout out a warning, but she was already too late. A wave of strong magic smashed them all to the floor or against a wall. She ended up against a doorpost and she lost her daggers in the collision. She tried to jump up but was once more crushed by a new wave. She found herself on all fours, struggling for breath. She managed to look around and saw that her companions were in hardly better shape. Varric was completely knocked out and her brother laid flat on his back, trying effortlessly to get up. Only Fenris was still standing, but he was staggering heavily, not being able to lift his sword, let alone wield it. She worked herself up on her knees. She had to do something and she knew damn well what although she hated it. She had no choice or they would all perish here. She closed her eyes and tapped into the Fade, as her father had taught her. She felt the power enter her body and she concentrated on the spell she was about to release. She opened her eyes and focused on the arcane horror in front of her. The spectre was about to send a third wave to finish them off, but Marian acted faster. With all the force she could assemble, she launched a powerful bolt of ice, immediately followed by a fireball. The horror in front of her screamed when it first got frozen and after that burned like a torch and not moments later dissolved, leaving nothing but a wisp of steam. Hawke collapsed but not before she saw the expression on Fenris's face: full of shocked abhorrence.

She desperately tried to get up and for once she was grateful for her brother's assistance. He had hurried to her side after he had finally got on his feet again and helped her to stand.

'Varric,' she croaked.

'Safe and sound Hawke,' the dwarf reassured her, 'a good thing you dealt with that – thing as you did. Gave me the creeps.' Despite everything she had to smile. Varric knew about her magic but couldn't care less. No judgment there. Well, he was a dwarf after all and dwarfs didn't mind much about magic. 'And Bianca?'

'Got a scratch I'm afraid but nothing a good polish can't remedy. Let's get out of this awful place.'

She didn't dare to look at Fenris, in fact she was more or less surprised he was still here.

_Oh well, let the accusations commence and let's get it over with._

'Apparently Danarius has escaped,' he said with a voice so neutral it almost hurt, 'or perhaps he hasn't even been here.' He paused for a moment and added, 'I need some air.' And with that he fled down the stairs. For some reason or another he didn't seem as affected by the assault of the arcane horror as they were. Maybe it was because of his markings. Lyrium intended to parry magic attacks.

'Bugger seems not very happy,' Varric mumbled.

'No. And I can think of a few reasons why,' Marian said dourly. She took a deep breath and then followed the elf, bracing herself against his reaction.

They found him leaning against the outward wall of the mansion. Or rather lounging against the wall; Hawke couldn't find another word to describe the graceful way he exposed himself, especially because he was no doubt not aware of it. He straightened himself the moment he saw their little bunch appear through the front door. He particularly turned his gaze to her. She had dreaded this since the moment she had seen the expression on his face after she had been forced to use her – other ability. His hate for magic had been palpable.

'You're a mage,' he said in an accusing if not disgusted tone, as was expected.

'Thank you for enlighten me,' she retorted dryly, 'I would never have guessed myself. I would forever been wondering where that strange tingling feeling in my fingers comes from that I feel now and again. I'm so grateful you've explained it.' He was absolutely not amused.

'Why are you wearing leather armour like a rogue? Why using knives? Why are you in disguise?' He shot his questions with a barely restrained resentment that wove a hoarse edge through his rough velvet voice and made his eyes flare. Her eyes flared in response.

'Well, excuse me for not running around Kirkwall dressed in robes and waving a staff,' she said tartly, 'that kind of behaviour will undoubtedly get me a one-way ticket to the Gallows and that, surprisingly as it may seem, is not an option I warm towards.'

They stood staring at each other with a hostile undertone, until Carver stepped in to add more hostility.

'Don't you even think of threatening my sister,' he said challenging. With quite an effort she suppressed an irritated smirk. Proud Carver to defend her like a knight in shining armour. She didn't need it, and, to be honest, appreciated his attempt for stepping up for her much neither. She suspected that he just wanted to speak up, to be the great defender, to be that knight in shining armour. Not for her, just for himself. He could only make things worse with that uncontrolled blathering big mouth of his. Fenris blinked.

'Don't worry, ' he said and when she turned her gaze back to him, she caught a glimpse of a hunted, haunted look that almost swept her of her feet. She composed herself straight away. She would not let herself be taken away by a pair of eyes, how astonishing beautiful or touching anguished they might look. She would not allow herself to feel like a smitten young girl again. The next moment the glance was gone and he looked as blank as a Tranquil, not even a trace of anger left.

'It is not my intent to sound ungrateful,' he said, again with that voice like molten dark sugar, rough velvet, a night of hot – _stop that right now you blithering fool, this is not the time nor the place, let be the occasion_ - 'I have not the best ... experiences with mages.' Well, she knew that very clearly by now. He suddenly turned towards her with hardly masked hate which startled her. She almost staggered under his abrupt fierce glow. 'What is your goal?' Her first reaction was to slap him in the face but she managed to calm herself. She would not be tempted to lose her temper despite everything that had happened but forced herself to hold back. It wasn't easy but she was able to keep her self-control as she had always done at the times she had been confronted with Templars. _Except for that one time but that had hardly been her fault, had it ... dammit, not now ... _Shewilled the memory way. Instead of bursting out in fury she just raised her brow and stiffened her shoulders to let him make clear that she was angry and ready to oppose him. In short, he had made her ruffle her feathers. What kind of ridiculous question was this anyway?

'What on earth do you mean?'

'What kind of mage are you? What do you want to accomplish with your magic?' he said with an impatient gesture. He sounded like outright disgust and she reacted to that emotion although she didn't want to. But her just suffocated memories made her react more harsh then she intended.

'I could tell you it's none of your bloody business but right now I'm just trying to survive and look after my family.' 'And succeeding tremendously,' she heard Carver murmur but chose to ignore it. One angry man to cope with was enough for this moment. 'I suppose that must sound very dangerous,' she added sardonically. Fenris shot her a look somewhere between annoyance and amusement.

'You're not Danarius, that is the best I can say for now,' he said.

'He has fled or at least disappeared, if he has been here at all,' Marian gratefully changed the subject before she would burst out in a livid rant despite herself, 'do you think he will come back for you?'

'I don't doubt it. The markings he carved into my skin are priceless. I'm too valuable to let go. He would rather flay me then let me walk free.' For a moment Hawke looked him up and down and couldn't help herself. To her own dread she heard herself blurt out, 'That would be a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.' She heard Carver hiss and Varric snigger and groaned inwardly. She wouldn't hear the end of it. To her amazement Fenris chuckled and she was almost certain he blushed. The moment passed too quickly.

'I don't want to sound ungrateful, you did help me after all. Let me at least pay you for your efforts, you were promised profit,' he said, again with that straight composure but she immediately raised her hands, refusing the pouch he retrieved from one of the leather pockets attached to his waist-belt.

'No, we didn't find that Magister of yours, save your money till we day we have.'

'Er, Hawke,' Varric started to protest somewhere behind her back.

'I insist you take it, if you don't I will simply throw it at your feet,' Fenris said heatedly and that flash of anger suddenly reappeared. And she knew damn well why, she could almost taste it and even more read it from his appalled look. She would not accept that.

'Why? Because you can't stand the thought of owing a debt to a mage?' A short flare of his lyrium tattoos proved she had hit the right spot. 'Like I said, we couldn't catch Danarius, you don't owe us anything.'

'Yes he does,' Varric insisted, 'a whole damn night of useless battling. Think of what I could have been doing instead of fighting of hunters, bloody shades, demons and what not. Think of the renowned ale I could have been drinking, the games of wicked –'

'Shut up,' Hawke cut him short, giving him an irritated look over her shoulder. She turned back to the elf. 'But if you can't live with the nagging idea of owing me a debt, a _mage_ of all gruesome creatures, I will hire you.' Fenris raised his brow in disbelief. 'We are planning a, er, quite _expensive_,' another mean look at the dwarf, 'and dangerous expedition and I could use a marvellous sword arm like yours. Well?' She cocked her head, waiting for his reaction. For some reason he was certain that "no" was not an option. And frankly, he was too flabbergasted to refuse.

'I don't appear to have much choice.' Fenris sounded fractious but she was certain she heard a flicker of interest in his husky voice. 'You can find me here when you need me. With Danarius gone, I don't see a point in taking his mansion as my base.'

'And right you are, spoken as a true warrior. If you don't mind I will take my leave now before I make a complete fool of myself. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon.' And with that she stomped off, with two bristling men in tow, leaving an utterly bewildered elf behind.

'What the hell were you thinking,' Carver snarled while they were descending the long flight of steps that led from Hightown to Lowtown.

'What are you talking about?' she said innocently but she knew damn well what he meant.

'That bloody elf hates mages, he behaves like a complete jackass after we risked our hide for him in that demon infested mansion and you start _flirting_ with him!' he spat.

'You're overreacting as always. I can imagine someone is not very fond of mages after being enslaved and abused by them for a lifetime. He did apologize for his words, didn't he? Well, sort of. And besides that, what is wrong with a little flirting?' She raised her voice. She knew she had this coming but she was absolutely not in the mood for a row with her brother, let alone she would let him reprimand her.

'A _little_ flirting? You were practically all over him! You damn well behaved like brothel wench!' Carver yelled.

'Yes, you would know everything about their behaviour!' Hawke shouted back, 'you have enough opportunity to study them during your escapades in the Blooming Rose. I bet you have already earned a gold membership, you bloody hypocrite!'

'Hey now,' Varric interfered, 'why don't you both slow it down and act like real siblings.'

'We _are_ acting like real siblings, just like you and your sweet brother Bartrand,' Hawke sneered.

'Alright, you have a point there. But try at least to keep your voices down, I don't feel like having a scramble with one of the Lowtown thug gangs this night. And by the way, Carver, I must agree with your sister; there's nothing wrong with a little flirting. Especially when you've just discovered that you have fallen in love.'

'What?!' squealed Hawke in horror. This went even worse than she had feared up forehand.

'I have the title already,' Varric continued mercilessly.' He spread his arms like an actor and started in a reciting tone, 'The Love Story of the beautiful Mercenary Refugee and the perfectly handsome Renegade Elf. A bit long maybe, I should work on that, but it covers the intention.'

'You are disgusting,' Hawke screamed and she ran off.

'I'm sure my readers will think differently,' bellowed Varric after her, forgetting his own warning.

'You can eat shit and die,' she yelled back at him before she disappeared around a corner. Varric shook his head.

'No appreciation for art,' he sighed. Carver sniggered and the dwarf turned to him. 'What about it, Junior, care for a drink before you have to face her wrath?'

'Sounds appealing,' Carver agreed and he followed him to the Hanged Man.

Fenris leaned back against the front door he just had jammed shut. What had happened out there? Had he been hired to act like some kind of mercenary at the whim of a mage? Had he really agreed? What the fuck had gotten into him?! Damn damn and another damn. No sooner had he freed himself from his shackles or his life was already bonded with again a mage. He let out a frustrated shout and thumped with all his force against the innocent wood of the door. His gauntlet hand left a significant dent. He groaned. _You idiot. You utter, stupid, blighted idiot. Bloody hell._ He let out a deep sigh. No use worrying about it now. In the morning he would search her out and tell her that the deal was of. _She_ was the one who hadn't want to accept his money, not his fault, not his problem. Simple as that. Feeling a little better at that thought, he pushed back from the tormented door and started to roam thoughtlessly through the mansion that he had claimed as his own. Well, not as his own but the idea that he would live in the place Danarius had fled gave him some satisfaction after all the frustrations of the past night. He still didn't know if his – former master, tormenter really had been here. He sincerely hoped so because in that case he had fled because of him and that gave him a feeling of contentment. That would mean that he was afraid of him, or at least wasn't strong enough to fight him at this moment. He felt very pleased with that. And that very moment the vision of her came swimming back in his mind. He wouldn't have been able to do it without her support. Danarius, or at least his slaver commander, had been afraid of their combined forces. On his own he would have been an easy target. Damn again.

He found himself in the wine cellar. Apparently he had discovered a candle somewhere and had been able to light it when the thought hit his mind. _Blast_. Blasted woman. Blasted _mage_. He hissed and almost dropped the candle. Then his eyes fell upon the label on a crate with bottles that looked very familiar. Aggrigio Parvali. Ugh. That was a wine he knew well. A noble wine, only served when the most powerful of the Magisters were present at Danarius's fabled parties. He had never been allowed to drink it, of course, he had only poured it to the guests, wondering what it would taste like. And now he had the opportunity to find out. He was almost afraid to take one of the bottles in his hand, as if it would burn him. He did nevertheless and when it proved out that it didn't do any harm, he took two of the bottles upstairs. He returned to the large room on the second floor, the room with the double bed, the big hearth and the full-size table. From starters he had decided that this would be his room. It suited him. He opened one bottle and took a deep swill. He almost choked. He wasn't used to wine, let be of this quality. But after he was done coughing he took another quaff and decided it tasted good. After emptying the bottle he felt very pleased with himself and he was ready to try the comfort of the double bed after having been forced to sleep on the hard floor for as long as he knew.

The satisfied grin was soon swept of his face.

It wasn't due to the comfort he wasn't used to. It wasn't due to the exquisite wine that had up till now never had been into his grasp. It wasn't even due to the tormenting memories that had been haunting him since his escape.

It was all due to the woman he had met the last evening. The woman that had fought by his side. The woman that to his repulsion had used magic when that blasted arcane horror had turned up. The woman that without any question had run to his rescue. That gold haired, sapphired eyed apparition had saved him. She might not have been able to catch the colour of his eyes in the dusk, but hers had lit up in the sparse torchlight. And at that moment had took his breath away. But that was before he knew she was a mage. He cursed again, this time in Arcanum and from the bottom of his heart. _Venhedis! Fasta vass!_

He had tried to find solace in that comfortable double bed, but he had failed to find any leisure. After not as much as half an hour he had left the relaxing embrace of the soft mattress and feather pillows to wander around his close environment. The rest of the night he had been pacing through the room, thinking of her and cursing her. Came morning he was exhausted and still not able to sleep. He slumped into one of the chairs and found a few moments of sleep until his tormented mind jerked him back into the world of the present.

He descended to the large space on the bottom floor to practise his battle moves and found finally relieve in wielding his sword at imaginary enemies.


	3. Chapter 3

**As you may have guessed by now, this is my first attempt to write fanfiction. Besides that my native language is not English so I hope you will forgive me my mistakes!**

**Of course Bioware own everything ... the lucky bastards.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 3

Hawke hadn't been able to sleep the whole night. That stupid arcane horror kept popping up in her memory. That awful moment she had been forced to show her magic. She couldn't sweep Fenris's aghast expression out of her mind. She hated him for his reaction, she hated herself for her – ha – gift. Maker, she wished now more than ever that she was born without magic, that she truly was a rogue. Then he wouldn't have looked at her in that appalled way. She threw herself on her other side. Why was she so upset about him? Why would she care how he looked at her, what he thought of her? If he wasn't willing to see past her magic, could only see her as a mage and not as a human being with lots of talents besides merging with nasty demons and performing blood rituals, he could fuck off as far as she was concerned. She screwed her eyes shut and images of his perfect slender, supple frame entered uninvited her brain. The way he moved, the way he fought, so limber and elegant. The way he had looked at her when ... She groaned.

In the wee hours of the night she heard her brother enter and slump heavily down on the narrow cot beside hers. Drunk as ever, she decided. Perhaps even as never before. She reminded herself to thank Varric for it, at least he had kept him from harassing her. On the other hand, the dwarf had been quite infuriating. Perhaps she should cuff him for that. After thanking him.

'Stop that,' Carver grumbled out of the sudden. She started.

'Stop what?'

'That endlessly tossing and turning. It's driving me crazy.' So not drunk enough to end up in alcoholic bliss. Only cuffing then.

'What, it's making you dizzy?' she said wickedly.

'It's making me sick,' he growled, 'especially because I know why you are doing it. Let me die in peace.' She cursed under her breath. After another sleepless hour she decided to leave her bed and the hovel altogether. She dressed, armoured and armed herself and wandered through Lowtown in the pale light of a new day. After some contemplation she decided to pay a visit to the bathhouse and allowed herself the luxury to relax in hot water drenched with rosemary scented oil. After that she went to the Hanged Man for breakfast. She was surprised to see Varric sitting at the table in the back.

'You are up early,' she said while joining him.

'Who says I have been sleeping at all,' he replied smiling, 'you are the one who is already on her feet at this impossible hour.' Hawke nodded at the waitress and ordered bread and cheese and a mug of coffee. She didn't trust the stew and although the bread would undoubtedly be stale and the cheese running, at least she would be able to recognise their origins. And the coffee would be surprisingly good. She loved the coffee at the Hanged Man. Hot and strong as she liked it. 'I suppose it has everything to do with our broody elf?' The dwarf hauled her out of her musing.

She bristled.

'Just shut up. I decided not long ago that you deserve a whack around your dwarven ears,' Hawke threatened. Varric grinned and took a swallow of his morning ale. He disliked coffee and hated thee. Or better, he distrusted both beverages, stating they were bad for his health.

'You can't deny he made at least some kind of impression on you,' he said, 'I've been working on my unexpected new story whole night and I intend to make an epic romance novel out of it.'

'You wouldn't dare!' Hawke hissed, intimidating him with her steaming mug but Varric wasn't impressed at all.

'At least I hope that your brother left you in peace,' he said, finishing a sentence, blowing on the ink to dry it and closing his book. He put down his quill.

'As a matter of fact he didn't. He was'nt drunk enough not to harass me. You should have kept him in here for a spell longer.'

'He was already keeling over, Hawke, one more nip of whisky and he would have passed out,' Varric chuckled.

'Would have suited me well,' Hawke murmured in her mug before taking a sip of the strong black liquid. Absentmindedly she chewed and swallowed her breakfast while Varric once again picked up his quill and dipped it into the inkwell next to his tankard of ale. He opened his notebook to scribble a few more lines. At this early hour the tavern was calm and peaceful. The only sounds came from the crackling fire in the giant fire-place, the soft scribbling of Varric's quill and the faint humming of the barman who was cleaning the crockery.

'You know the elf is more or less your responsibility,' the dwarf suddenly broke the silence, making Hawke startle and almost choke on a bite of stale bread. He looked at her intensely, patiently waiting until she was done coughing.

'What do you mean?' She wiped away the crumbs on the table.

'You recruited him.'

'So what? You disagree with that?'

'No, I don't; like you pointed out before, he is a wonderful sword arm. But it seems your brother has – issues with him. Last night he kept on rambling how the elf insulted you ... yeah, yeah I know,' the dwarf held up his hand when he saw the sarcastic look on her face, 'he is more likely jealous of his battle skills. The little Hawke-cock doesn't like another capable male around. But whatever the case, he won't be enthralled if you take him with us on the expedition. It could lead to trouble and we will have enough of that in the Deep Roads.'

'Carver has issues with everyone,' Hawke huffed, 'I am not certain if I want him to come to the Deep Roads at all.' Varric whistled through his teeth and put his book and quill aside.

'He won't be happy.'

'That's his usual state of mind. He hates taking orders, he hates it to "live in my shadow" as he puts it ever so often. He is a very good battle partner when he puts his mind to it but otherwise I can't rely on him and that could turn out to be life threatening dangerous down there.'

Varric put his fingertips together and looked across them with a thoughtful frown. 'Are you sure about this? Carver will hate you for it.'

Marian sneered. 'He hates me anyhow, what difference does it make? Did I already mention that he loves to hate?'

With a smirk Varric grabbed his tankard of ale. 'I'm glad I won't be the one breaking the news to him but if you need assistance from Bianca just let me know, she's always willing to defend you.'

Hawke laughed out loud and ordered another coffee, pushing the drained mug aside. 'I feel completely safe now,' she chuckled, 'with Bianca around nothing can go wrong.' And then she became serious again. 'I should probably go to Fenris to talk to him. He doesn't even know what the expedition is about I hired him for.'

'And what expedition might that be, I wonder,' Varric said with a devious grin. He ducked just in time to avoid the empty mug she tossed at him.

* * *

Slightly nervous Hawke went to Fenris's mansion. She had no idea in what kind of mood she would find him after their last night tussle and she thought it wise to bring some kind of peace offering with her. Standing at his door she hesitated what to do. She could knock but for some reason she didn't think he would respond to knocking. Best just to go in and make her appearance clear in another way. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

'Fenris, are you there?' she cried out the moment she entered the premises. There was no answer and for a short moment she was afraid that the next minute she'd feel a sword between her ribs, or his hand crushing her heart or another organ of his choice. But there came no sound or sudden deadly movement so she crawled up the stairs, anxious what she might find.

'Fenris?' She called out again. She found him in the main room, completely exhausted slumped in one of the chairs surrounding the large table. She was in fact convinced she dragged him out of his sleep. He sprang up at her entrance, his eyes full of fear, with dark shadows under them. He immediately raised his sword that not a moment before had rested against the table. She was impressed by his fast reaction and at the same time wondered in what kind of permanent tension his inner state must be to go from sleep to a fighting stance in one fluent motion. It worried her deeply.

'I'm sorry I startled you,' she said excusing, 'but I come with good intensions.' She held up the basket she was carrying with her. 'A welcome-in-the-neighbourhood present,' she said with a strained smile.

For a moment he stared at her as if she was a ghost but then seemed to recognise her. At any case he decided not to attack her. 'I doubt my neighbours appreciate my presence here, ' he replied, sagging back in his chair, still with his sword in his hand. 'What are you doing here?'

'Well, they do,' Hawke beamed, avoiding his question, 'hence the present.' To her great surprise he suddenly laughed. It lasted only a heartbeat but the sound was warm and sonorous and made her wobbly. She put the basket on the table, leaning gratefully against the wood.

'Cheese, smoked ham and fresh baked bread,' she managed. 'And a bottle of wine although I wouldn't have bothered with that I see,' noticing the empty bottles.

He finally put his sword back against the table.

'No. The wine cellar is well stocked,' he said. 'I am rather touched by your concern for my wellbeing,' he added somewhat sarcastically, 'but I don't think that's the reason why you are here.'

Hawke smiled wanly. 'That's true although I really wanted to bring you some breakfast. Wine you can keep well for years before it starts wandering around your house on its own account or changes into something completely different, unlike food. I assumed there wouldn't be anything edible in the pantry. And starving yourself to death after surviving all those slavers trying to kill you seemed so – pathetic.' She dared a glance in his direction and got paid with a crooked smile. Only now she realised he had forgone with his armour and was just clad in his leather pants and a loose linen sleeveless shirt. He looked staggering, even with the shadows under his eyes.

_Well, hitherto all is going well. I made him smile, even laugh. I'm looking at the most handsome man I ever met in my life, I haven't fainted yet and he hasn't made an effort to run me through with either his weapon or hand. Things are looking up._

'Again, I am touched,' he said, 'and I will contemplate all your good thoughts after you have confessed why you are really here.'

Hawke sighed. 'I have not been completely honest with you.'

'Why am I not surprised,' he retorted. She wished to ignore that jab. She dragged a hand through her hair and rested it on the surface of the table.

'Honest is perhaps the wrong word. Not entirely clear maybe. Then again, we had already so much to discuss last night.' She offered him a little smile but he did not reciprocate. He just watched her impassionedly. She bit her lip. 'The expedition I told you about will lead us into the Deep Roads. The most dangerous place in, or rather under Thedas. I should have told you before I asked for your assistance. I can understand if you want to refuse.'

He looked at her incomprehensibly.

'You hired me. I agreed. Deep Roads or no, I have no choice.'

Now it was her turn to look taken aback. 'Of course you have a choice. I will never ask you to risk your life for me if you don't want to.'

He rose from his chair, folded his arms and cocked his head, taking a defensive and at the same time hostile stance. The sunlight that fell through the grubby windows caressed his silvery hair, giving him a godlike aura. It was all she could do to keep her mind together.

'What trick do you have upon your sleeve?' he demanded. She looked lost.

'I don't know what you mean ...'

'Of course you do. There is a catch, there always is. Especially with mages.' His eyes were accusing if not fuming with rage. He remembered his intent to tell her the deal was off as soon as he would see her and here he was, reaffirming his promise to assist her on her ludicrous expedition. It didn't matter it would lead him into the Deep Roads; it could take him to the moon and back as far as he was concerned. What _did_ matter was that he was again caught in her web and he was furious with both her and himself. He wanted to take her basket of so-called good intensions and throw it at her head before kicking her out of his house and life entirely. The fingers of his right hand twitched and clamped around the muscles of his left arm. He couldn't define what was holding him back. Perhaps it was her demeanour, how she subtly straightened her shoulders, the way she lifted her head just a little. Not out of arrogance, he knew mages' arrogance when he saw it, but out of determination with a hint of stubbornness, accentuated by the sudden glint in her sapphire eyes. Despite himself he was intrigued.

She started to get angry; she would be damned if she'd let herself be intimidated by him and his wretched opinion of mages, comprehensible or not. But then it dawned upon her.

'Alright, I think I understand,' she began cautiously, 'you have been a slave for a very long time, not used to freedom, never been permitted to take your own decisions –' But he didn't let her finish.

'Don't you think you know anything about me,' he growled menacing, taking a threatening step forward while refolding his arms and clenching his hands into fists, 'don't you even try to make me believe that you do and never _ever_ pretend you understand anything about me or my life.' His markings flared disturbingly.

Hawke tried to stay calm to not incite him even more.

_Be careful, things may have been looking up, but they can crash to smithereens very fast now._

She tried again. 'Okay, you are right, I don't know anything about your feelings or history and I don't claim that I do. You could remedy that by the way, er, never mind. Please calm down and put the illumination out, it's quite unnerving. I'm just trying to explain that you don't have to obey me. You are your own man now, fit to take your own decisions. And if you decide not to accompany me into the Deep Roads, that's alright with me as it should be alright with you.' She gave him a brittle smile. 'So, what about some breakfast and perhaps a glass of wine as a toast on – neutrality or a truce or world peace,' she ended lamely. 'Sorry, I got somewhat carried away I'm afraid.' At first she feared that her rambling hadn't helped the situation much but to her relief she saw his markings extinguish.

He stared at her, trying to fathom her intentions. He had to admit he saw nothing but frankness and honesty in her bright blue eyes, and he felt his anger seep away. For a moment he wondered if she was using magic on him but at the same time dismissed the thought as too paranoid, even for him. He shook his head.

'I suppose neutrality will do,' he said, relaxing a little, 'but I have not discovered any glasses yet so you will have to drink straight from the bottle.'

'That's fine with me,' she smiled sweetly. He didn't return her smile but at least he didn't look as if he wanted to disembowel her either.

'Well, if you insist on making my own decisions, then I tell you here and now that I don't know if I agree to come with you,' he said whilst opening the bottle she had brought with her. He didn't trust her, he didn't trust her at all, but for the moment he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt so he permitted her to stay.

Hawke had taken a seat in the chair opposite to his and looked around. She noticed that he at any rate had started a fire in the big hearth.

'I could have asked for your help in a more friendly way,' she grimaced, thinking back at the uncomfortable and embarrassing situation of the night before, 'I believe I rather pushed you.'

'That is one way to put it,' he said while he handed her the now opened bottle, 'why do you want to go into the Deep Roads anyway? For riches and glory?'

Hawke took a swill without tasting much. 'Would you believe me when I told you that I'm just doing it to please Varric?'

'At this point I don't believe anything,' Fenris retorted, taking the bottle she offered him. Hawke made a face; for a moment he thought she would stick out her tongue but she didn't.

'Frankly, I only want to buy my mother's old family estate back. My dear uncle has lost it over a game of dice or carts or wallop, whatever that may be, and she's been wailing about it since she found out. I hope that if I can push her over the threshold of her old pride, she will stop complaining.' She looked at his face that stared back completely blank. 'You don't believe this one either, do you? It is the truth, honest.'

Fenris put the bottle on the table and sat down once more. He leaned into the back of his chair and studied her out of the corner of his eye. He was inclined to believe this reason, it was a too odd one not to.

'You don't want to go back to Ferelden?' he asked. Hawke shrugged. He noticed she was fidgeting with a plain silver ring on the middle finger of her left hand, the only jewellery she wore.

'It used to be my home,' she admitted, 'although the village we lived in is destroyed. Perhaps one day I will return. What about you?' And again he wasn't willing to give her much information and was avoiding her eyes. After emptying two bottles of wine she went back to Lowtown. They had been talking about living in Kirkwall, her year as a mercenary and her companions. She had asked him to come to the Hanged Man but he hadn't promised anything.

This "Make Your Own Decisions" item could prove to become quit a problem.

* * *

The moment she stepped into her uncle's hovel, she got berated by her mother.

'Marian Hawke! Finally there you are! Where in the Maker's name have you been all day?!'

'Visiting an acquaintance. What is it to you?' She felt a bit woozy, perhaps drinking a bottle of wine after a night without sleep hadn't been a brilliant idea, even with such delightful company. True, Fenris hadn't been very talkative, thinking about it she had been the one doing most of the talking but at least she had had some wonderful elf to behold while doing so. Just the thought of the rippling of his naked biceps when he shifted in his chair or lifted the bottle of wine made her quiver. Let alone ...

'Have you been listening to anything I've been telling you?' Her mother's voice cut through her contemplations. No, she hadn't.

'I'm sorry, Mother, I'm sure everything will turn out for the best,' she tried a platitude that usually calmed Leandra down. Not this time however.

'Young lady! I really do wish you would pay attention! As I was saying, there was someone at the door this morning, making inquiries. And since I was the only one at home at that moment, I had to answer this – person. If he would have had bad intentions, I –'

'Inquiries? What kind of inquiries?' Hawke became suddenly alert. If someone wanted to contact her, they usually left a message at the Hanged Man. Except Fenris, he liked detours and diversions. This sounded strange.

'He wanted to know who lived here and for how long.' That was even stranger.

'Did you answer him?'

Her mother bristled. 'Of course not! I told him to be on his way and shut the door in his face.'

'What did he look like? I don't suppose he told you his name?'

'No he did not. And he looked like any other low-life you like to hang out with these days.'

Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose. This was all very informative. Probably a messenger after all, perhaps from the Red Iron mercenaries. Her mother always made a fuss about nothing and the little incident dissolved in the residue of the wine on the way to the Hanged Man. She spent a pleasant evening playing wicked grace with Varric and Isabela and forgot everything about the inquiring - person.

* * *

Hawke woke with a start, at first not knowing why, drowsily as she was from wine shared with a certain elf and mugs of ale with a dwarf and a pirate queen. Then she realised her marbari Alrond was barking like mad and immediately she was wide awake. Within a moment she was up with her daggers she always kept under her pillow in her hands. She jumped through the bedroom door into the space that was used for cooking and more or less living in. The war hound was jumping against the front door, almost crushing the rickety wood, all the while barking franticly. She jerked the door open and the dog flashed through it. She followed, almost being overtaken by her brother. She noticed he wielded his broadsword. Perhaps not the most practical weapon in this case but probably the one nearest to grasp. It was impossible to see much in the dusk outside the hovel but apparently Alrond had found someone or something to pursue and he had darted of. Both sister and brother followed him, going after the sound he made, trying to find their footing in the dark without tripping over all the rubbish lingering around.

'You're in your smallclothes,' Carver managed to grumble.

'It's called a nightshirt and you are half naked,' she shot back.

'I'm a man.'

'Good for you.'

Alrond turned from barking into growling, not a good sign. Not a moment later they stumbled upon him, stooped over a still body. Hawke knelt beside it, at the same time trying to calm down the marbari.

'Sh Alrond, it's alright, let's not try to attract more attention, shall we.' The hound immediately got quiet and sat on his hunches beside her. In the eerie red light from the foundries that lay not far away and the one casted by a sputtering torch, it was clear the body was indeed a – body. A very dead one at that and although Hawke couldn't be entirely sure in the gloom, it didn't look like Alrond was the killer. For starters there wasn't enough blood. There was no blood at all.

'Who the hell is he?' Carver said, kneeling beside her.

'How should I know? Let's try to get him back home, we can make more light there. You watch him while I alert the city guard.' She more felt than saw the defiant expression on her brother's face. 'Or the other way around if you are willing to draw Aveline out of her sleep.' The red haired former Fereldan officer had climbed to the rank of captain and she was a stern one. And notorious of her humour when her night rest was disturbed.

'Alright, you sprint to the keep,' Carver snapped, as was expected. But first they carried the body, which was less heavy than they had feared, to their uncle's hovel. Leandra and Gamlen were awake, the latter wearing his ridiculous nightcap that made him look like an overgrown leprechaun. Their mother had already lighted a few candles and was demanding some explanation.

'What kind of raucous was that? What are you two up to this time?' Leandra wished to know but got no answer.

And as always Gamlen was complaining. 'Is that a stiff? I don't want a stiff in my house.'

Hawke dropped her half of the burden on the floor. 'House? That's an euphemism if I ever heard one,' she sneered. Gamlen bridled but she paid no further attention to her uncle. Especially not after Carver called out the deceased happened to be a woman. She wore dark plain leather armour, with no significant symbol. There was no letter upon her body, no seal or token in the pouch at her waist, nothing to indentify her by. Marian and Carver looked at each other, for once not willing to quarrel. They were completely puzzled why someone apparently had tried to break in with some kind of mysterious reason, had failed at it because Hawke's marbari had been alert and then had died just like that. Then Hawke discovered some greenish foam around the death woman's mouth.

'Poison I think,' she said, 'self inflicted. Too afraid to be caught, but why? What can be so damned important that someone rather dies than tell why she wanted to sneak into a place?'

Carver shrugged and Hawke turned to her mother.

'I don't imagine this was the one who came to the door yesterday?'

'As I told you before, that was a man and hardly as well armoured as this poor woman.'

'I'm off to bed,' Gamlen announced, 'and keep that dog quiet the next time.'

Marian rolled her eyes. 'If it hadn't been for him, we could well all be dead by now,' she snapped.

'Whatever,' Gamlen grumbled and disappeared to the second floor.

'You'd better go back to sleep also, mother,' Hawke said, suddenly feeling very tired. This promised to be going a long night.

'Do you actually think I can sleep with a dead woman under my roof?' Leandra exclaimed in a shrill tone.

'While you wake Aveline, I get Varric?' Carver suggested. 'Mother can stay here and keep watch.' His sister gave him a sly smile.

'Good thinking,' she said, 'If anyone knows anything, even a sliver of information, it is Varric. And yes, I will risk Aveline's rage.' For the first time since Bethany's death Carver fully smiled at her.

'Alright sister, let's get this solved.' He even gave her a slap on the shoulder.

'Wait a minute!' Leandra started to protest, 'you can't leave me here alone!'

'You won't be alone,' Marian called over her shoulder, 'Alrond will be here with you and he is the hero of the day. Or rather the night.'

By that they were off, Hawke to the Keep and Carver to the Hanged Man.

* * *

Half an hour later the four of them were gathered around the mystery woman, Leandra had already gone back to bed before they arrived which didn't surprise Hawke.

'I see you haven't removed her armour yet,' Aveline said, the sleep still thick in her voice.

'We wanted to wait for your expertise,' Marian said smoothly. The guard-captain had been less then amused to be dragged out of her bed.

'Never seen that face before in my life,' Varric put in a word, rather gruffly. He hadn't been amused either but a good story-teller had to be prepared to sacrifice his well earned sleep. Even if it meant to be waked by a far too loud shouting youth.

'Give me a hand, will you,' Aveline told Hawke and together they started to remove the light black armour. And then they found it. A pendant hidden under the woman's undershirt.

'I know that symbol,' Aveline said breathless when the light of a candle caught the illustrious pattern. Marian blanched.

'A Seeker,' she whispered.

* * *

**Thank you all for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A long time after Hawke left, Fenris was still sitting in his chair, staring into the fire. Now and again he took a swill from the bottle close at hand. He was thinking of her, about the impression she had made on him – all the impressions. No, he still didn't trust her even though they had shared a very pleasant time once the tension had drifted off. He didn't trust anyone and Hawke was a mage to boot although he had to admit he never had met a mage like her before in his entire life. Could it be true that not every mage was eager to use bloodmagic or wanted to be a powerful Magister? He was absolutely not willing to belief that and yet ... This woman that acted like a rogue and looked like a statue of an extraordinarily talented sculptor, a very lively statue that is, had almost been able to make him forget she was a mage at all. If he weren't careful the next step would be that he started to think magic wasn't dangerous and mages could be befriended without any peril. If he weren't careful this Marian Hawke would soften him and when he had let his guard down, she would strike. All mages were like that, in the end she would turn out to be no different.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. He imagined he could still smell her scent; she had been surrounded with a faint aroma of rosemary, sweet and spicy with something wild in it. It reminded him of the warm summers in the north. Her smile had been radiant, always reaching her astonishing sparkling deep blue eyes like warm, living sapphires. Her long honey blond flowing hair, nonchalantly pinned up, had lightened up like gold when the rays of the sun shone on it. One moment he almost had wanted to reach out to tuck a rogue strand behind her ear because it constantly fell into her face. Behind his closed eyes he saw her elegant hands, energetically moving with every word she spoke, the way she tilted her head, almost in a vulnerable way. Her warm husky voice, low for a woman, still echoed in the room. He saw the curve of her neck, the swelling of her breasts under her close fitting leather jerkin.

With a jolt he opened his eyes and abruptly jumped up before his reverie would make his tight leggings become uncomfortable. He went to the cellar to fetch another bottle of wine. _Better make that two_. _Venhedis!_ This woman was dangerous, he should be more than cautious around her.

And on the other hand ... something about her was comfortable and trustworthy.

* * *

Hawke had said very little, she was still in shock. Carver and Varric had taken her to the Hanged Man while Aveline had got together a few guards to move the corpse of the Seeker to the Keep. She had instructed them to leave the dead woman in the deepest and thus coolest cellar to wait for further investigation. She had ordered them to keep their mouths shut at penalty of sewer-duty. The two guardsmen had looked puzzled, carefully remarking there was no such thing as sewer-duty after which their captain had threatened to invent said duty this very minute. After that she had joined the others in Varric's suite. To her dismay she noticed the vulgar pirate was also present. The dwarf had dealt everyone a generous amount of good and strong Antivan brandy and Hawke had gulped hers down in one big swig. He hadn't even flinched.

'A Seeker. I can't believe it. A Seeker,' Hawke now whispered.

'Oh come on sweetness, why are you so upset about that? Surely just one –' Isabela started but was immediately cut off by Hawke's angry outburst.

'Because there never is _just one_ but even _just one_ is more dangerous than all bitch Meredith's blighted Templars together! That's why!' Marian snapped.

'That at least explains why I didn't recognize this one,' Varric said, 'I don't know any Seekers. That is, as far as I'm aware of.' He refilled Hawke's glass.

'Don't make light of this,' Hawke snarled.

'Madame, I wouldn't dare.' For a moment he contemplated petting Hawke's hand but he thought the better of it and just put the bottle back on the table. In the state she was now in she was more likely to bite his hand of than appreciate the soothing gesture.

Hawke and Carver had hastily donned their armour before running off in their different directions and at the moment she was impatiently fiddling with a clasp that hadn't been fastened all too well. The buckle broke and fell with a faint clinking sound on the wooden floor.

'O bloody hell,' Hawke swore, 'what now! This is my only decent armour, dammit.'

'Calm down, Hawke,' Aveline reacted, 'I'm sure it can be repaired. There are more important issues to worry about at this time.' Marian groused something incomprehensible and took another large swill of her brandy. 'Have you any idea why a Seeker would be after you?'

'We don't even know if she really was after Marian,' Carver remarked before his sister could answer. Hawke glared daggers at him.

'I'm the blasted mage here, aren't I? Or do you think she wanted to scold you for being an idiot? Or fine Gamlen for his appalling choice of night clothing?'

'Hey! I'm not an – ouch!' Aveline nudged him sharply in the ribs with an armoured elbow to silence him.

'A quarrel between you two won't help the situation so shut it.' she said sternly. 'Someone in this city has to know about the presence of a Seeker. She might have shown up in the Chantry. Perhaps you should talk with the Grand Cleric, Hawke.'

'Brilliant idea,' Hawke sneered,' why don't I march into the Gallows right away and turn myself in. And besides that, she looked as anonymous as possible so I don't think she has been to the Chantry to tell Elthina what she was doing in Kirkwall. I assume she was sent here on some sort of secret mission.' She stared absentmindedly into her glass before she downed the remaining brandy.

'You mentioned there never is just one Seeker,' Varric said while pouring her another measure of his precious liquid. Hawke grimaced sourly.

'As far as I know they usually operate in pairs.'

'So that means ...' Isabela started hesitantly.

'That there is still another one around, alive and well,' Hawke ended the sentence for her.

'That's great,' Carver grumbled, 'just great. You know, I bet that elf of yours is behind all this. Who says he actually is an escaped slave? He might as well be a mage-hunter as far as we know.' Hawke looked at her brother as if he had gone completely insane and that is exactly what she thought.

'One, he is not _my_ elf and two, if that ludicrous idea were true he concocted one hell of a diversion. With lots of people willing to sacrifice their lives to arrest just one mage.'

'I'm not convinced,' Carver shrugged and Marian rolled her eyes.

'Like I said, an idiot.'

'As a matter of fact, we could turn the existence of a second Seeker into our advantage,' Aveline said, raising her voice, 'we can try to find this person and force the information out of him. Or her.'

'Indeed,' Hawke retorted sarcastically, 'the only thing we have to do is stumble upon someone who has made her- or himself unidentifiable. We might as well rip off the clothes of every passerby to search for a certain pendant. Preferably before they commit suicide.' Aveline thumped the table.

'Will you stop being such an insufferable pain in the ass and work with me?' she shouted angrily, 'this is getting us nowhere.' Hawke let out a deep sigh and pulled her hand through her face..

'You're right, I'm sorry,' she said meekly, 'I'll try to be more cooperative. Nevertheless it will be very difficult to find the other Seeker, if there is one at all.'

'Difficult, not impossible. Varric, you know everyone in this city.' The guard captain sounded very determined, as if she was planning for battle.

'Apparently not,' the dwarf murmured but he smiled brightly at her when she gave him a highly irritated scowl. 'I will have an ear out, in fact every ear I can put my hands upon. Someone must know something.'

'I'll go to the harbour first thing in the morning, to inquire after passengers who docked over the last week,' Isabela piped up. Aveline cocked an eyebrow at her.

'Really? Who would have thought you could be useful.'

'I'm a gift box full of surprises,' the pirate queen beamed, 'you just have to unwrap me.'

'And I will interrogate my guardsmen,' Aveline said, ignoring Isabela's remark, 'especially the ones who had gate-duty the last few days. You see, Hawke, we will get results in no time. And with that I call it a night.'

Hawke suddenly looked up, her – again – empty glass in her hand.

'I want to see the body,' she said, 'I hardly got the chance to have a good look at it.'

'Yes, tomorrow morning, Hawke, after a good night's sleep,' Aveline tried, dreading what would come next.

'No, right now. I won't be able to get any sleep anyhow.'

'Perhaps _you_ won't, but I –'

'I said now. And someone get Anders, he can be of use; after all he is a healer and has to have knowledge of poisons.'

Aveline groaned loudly, knowing she wouldn't be able to change Hawke's mind. At times the woman could be as stubborn as a mule.

'He won't be very pleased to be waked up in the middle of the night,' Varric carefully said, 'I know I wasn't. And why do you need him anyway?'

'He can identify the poison the Seeker used. Every scrap of information helps,' Hawke stated, 'and I want him to do it right now, before the poison has disappeared or evaporated or whatever the stuff does.' She slurred a little but despite that her reflexes were still sharp; Varric was too late to save his costly brandy. She didn't even bother with her glass, instead drank deeply straight from the bottle.

'O-kay,' Varric said, 'never argue with a drunken woman. I'll go and fetch the mage. See you at the Keep, I suppose.'

'I am not drunk,' Hawke bit heatedly.

'I beg to differ,' the dwarf mumbled under his breath and then hastened out of the room and the Hanged Man to go to Darktown where the aforesaid mage ran a clinic. He already pitied the poor man.

* * *

Anders looked very concerned. His face still bore traces of the fast sleep he had been into until Varric had dragged him out of it although by now he was wide awake.

'Are you certain this is – was a Seeker?' he asked. He, Varric, Aveline, Carver and Hawke were standing around the corpse which was lying on a stone slab in a room in the depths of the Keep. Isabela had gone back to bed, declaring she needed her night's rest if she were to go to the docks early the next day. Aveline had looked very jealous, whishing she could do the same.

They had lighted several torches to have a good sight. Hawked pointed at the pendant around the dead woman's neck and said, 'as certain as can be.' She felt a little light-headed; she knew she shouldn't have drunk that much booze in such a short time but there was nothing she could do about that now. 'What can you tell about the poison?'

'I'm positive it is Crow venom,' Anders said without hesitation, 'always deadly and there is no antidote. In the right dose it works within seconds, as it obviously did in this case.'

'That was a great help,' Carver said derisively, 'now we have all the information we need to solve the mystery.' No one reacted. Anders kept staring at the Seeker, biting his lip.

'Have you considered the possibility she was trying to get to me through you?' he asked, 'I mean, hardly anyone knows you're a mage.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Hawke scoffed, 'she only had to follow me to discover your whereabouts. Better even: she just had to ask the Templars. They must know about your clinic.'

'No, they still haven't found me.'

'Alright, good for you and all that but most Templars are a bunch of nitwits who can't find their own arses with a map. Seekers are of a whole different kind. So if you were the target, why try to sneak into our hovel? Or are you hiding some other secret we should know besides being the host to some deranged spirit?'

'Justice is not deranged,' Anders said in a slightly irritated tone, 'and no, I don't have other secrets except a few private ones I'm not willing to share.'

'Keep them to yourself, I don't even want to know.' Marian started tapping her foot, feeling considerably frustrated. She wanted to do something, turn Kirkwall upside-down if need be to get the answers she was looking for.

'Well, I am enormously relieved,' Anders snorted, 'can I go back to my bed now or do you want me to cut her open to see if she has swallowed a message that clarifies everything? I will have patients waiting for me within a couple of hours, you know.'

'I'm totally of the same mind,' Aveline agreed, 'some sleep would do us all good. This whole mess will look a great deal better on the morrow.'

Marian was getting very annoyed by now. She turned sharply to Varric. 'And you? Also eager to get some sleep? I remember last night you were willing to stay awake to work on your fabulous new romantic novel.' The dwarf smiled apologizing.

'I don't want to be a fuss-budget, Hawke, but couldn't this have waited till tomorrow?' he said as gently as possible, stifling a yawn. Marian snapped.

'No!' she suddenly yelled at the top of her voice, 'it couldn't! A Seeker tries to break in, without doubt with the intension to haul me out of my house because of Maker knows why, another one is still on the loose somewhere in Kirkwall, waiting for the right moment to pounce upon me and all you lot can do is complain about your loss of sleep! You know what, I don't need you. Go fuck yourself!' She stormed off, leaving the others behind in utter bewilderment.

'What exactly triggered this outburst?' Anders finally informed.

'She's tense,' Aveline explained with a sigh.

'Overreacting,' Carver said somewhat fractious.

'And pretty drunk,' Varric added, ruefully thinking of his as good as empty bottle.

'I can understand she is tense. Having a Seeker at your heels is not a pleasant thought. We really should go to the bottom of all this,' Anders said considerately.

'I should probably go after her,' Carver said hesitantly.

'Just leave her,' Aveline yawned, 'I don't think she's in danger right now. At this moment she probably will tear out the throat of anyone who dears to attack or even bother her. And that includes you. Just go home, Carver. I'm sure she'll pop up in the morning.' Carver nodded in agreement. Not moments later the four of them were off to their beds, hoping to catch some sleep after this eventful night.

* * *

Hawke busted into Fenris's mansion. She had been running all the way from the Keep and was trying to catch her breath after she had conquered the stairs and stumbled into the only room he apparently wanted to use. Fenris had already jumped up at her noisy entrance, sword in hand. Her head was spinning and she almost fell so she grabbed the first thing she could get a hold on to prevent her from that humiliation. It happened to be his arm. She wasn't prepared for his reaction but then again, so many things had happened the last few hours, a dragon should have made his appearance to make her be surprised. The elf shrank back as if she had stung him or had been that very dragon and pushed her away.

'Don't touch me,' he spat. Hawke slumped heavily into a chair that happened to be in her line of falling down.

'Remind me to fall flat on my face the next time,' she breathed, 'and put that sword away, you might hurt someone.'

'That is the purpose of a weapon,' he replied, 'and may I ask what you are doing here _this_ time? At this hour of the night no less? I must say I'm rather curious.' He noticed her face was flushed, her hair appeared to be in complete disarray and her hands were slightly trembling. It was obvious something had happened and it probably wasn't pleasant. He started to regret his vicious reaction to her touch. He had responded out of instinct. Touch equalled hurt, punishment and humiliation. Up till now she hadn't intent to hurt, punish or humiliate him at all, sooner the opposite. But, as he had contemplated former evening, although he was intrigued by her, he didn't trust her and he wondered if he ever would. He sat back in his chair and waited for her explanation

Hawke questioned by now what indeed she was doing here. Without thinking she had fled the Keep, right to his mansion. She realised now she had to tell him about Anders, the mage with that creepy spirit living inside his body, or mind or whatever. She still couldn't grasp it entirely. And about Merrill. The shy, childish Dalish bloodmage who had abandoned her clan to live in Kirkwall because of reasons she still couldn't fully understand either. And last but not least about the Seekers who where after her. She took a deep breath.

'You're not going to like this,' she began, 'and undoubtedly never want to see me again, let alone you'll accompany me into the Deep Roads –'

'Hawke, please, just spit it out. Let me make my own conclusions afterwards.' His voice, so warm and dark and full of the remembrance of that night of hot sex she at this moment could not memorised she ever had, at least not with him _... oh not now, for the Maker's sake and Andraste's burning tits and all that nonsense ..._

And she did spit it out. She spoke so fast and so incomprehensible that he wouldn't have been able to get even a slight part of the picture it if he hadn't been trained to comprehend a simple nod and look. After she finished she bowed her head.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered with a hint of a sob in her voice that made him crumble despite himself and his inner defences and then fell silent, waiting for his reaction. His condemnation undoubtedly.

He looked at her for a long time, all the while trying to take in the amount of information she had been shooting at him. He saw the tears she was heroically trying to withhold, the fear she was radiating together with the shame and confusion that were almost visibly raging through her mind. He saw the vulnerability he also had noticed last evening, or afternoon, when she had tilted her head in that specific way. And he noticed something else. It made what she had said and how she behaved even more trustworthy. Because wasn't the saying that only children and drunk people told the truth?

'How much did you have to drink this night, Hawke?' he asked. She looked up, a questioning expression on her face. This was not something she had expected him to asked. If not the last thing.

'I, what?'

Fenris shot her a crooked smile. She almost moaned. And very hard tried not to start crying. 'How many glasses?'

It dawned to her. 'Oh, that. I don't know. About three. Or four, I think.'

'Three or four of what?'

Hawke frowned. 'Varric's famous Antivan brandy. What about it?'

He shook his head and made an effort not to laugh out aloud. Antivan brandy. That explained a lot. Although not why she had came to him.

'Again Hawke, why are you here?'

She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

'I don't really know,' she confessed, 'everyone was fussing about not getting enough sleep and you seem not to care about that a lot. I thought you'd be awake. Well, I did not think at all, I think.' She let out a short chuckle. 'I sound stupid, don't I? I just hoped you would listen, you're good at that. And perhaps even you would understand. I mean, you know about being hunted. How intimidating and utterly frightening that feels. I'm sorry. I said that before, didn't I? I mean it though.' She removed her hands and looked at him, completely lost. Fenris almost cringed but composed himself. _Don't trust her, just give her the benefit of the doubt. You already agreed on that._ _Stay safe._ Once again he smiled at her reassuringly, taking the bottle of wine in his hand.

'You do attract the strangest kind of living beings,' he remarked dryly while taking a swill from his bottle, 'a bloodmage, a possessed one and now a Seeker.' _And me_, he silently added and inwardly cuffed himself for it.

'Yes, and what's the difference between them all,' Hawke murmured. She felt relieved after her rather boisterous confession, not alone about the existence of the two other mages in her entourage but also about the sudden appearance of the terminal dead Seeker. She had been afraid he would have thrown her out of his mansion but instead he had taken in all the overwhelming information with at least outward calmness. Even comprehension. He smiled at her where she had feared rage.

Fenris realised he wanted to get angry, in fact he should be furious after all she had told him, but he didn't even manage to be annoyed. This intoxicated Hawke was quite endearing. _Even not being intoxicated this woman is endearing. And beautiful. And worthy to get to know better. And again, don't go there you fool._

Hawke let out a deep sigh, because of his inner struggle he almost missed it.

'I shouldn't have bothered you,' she said, 'I'll leave you for now. Thank you for your time.' She made a serious effort to get up.

'No Hawke, stay.'

She shook her head. 'No, I shouldn't do that. Oh shit.' She fell back in her chair and put a hand to her brow.

'You're ... how shall I put it,you're quite inebriated, Hawke. I don't want you to roam the streets in this state. You're staying here. You can sleep in my bed.'

'And where will you sleep?' she protested.

'Don't worry about that. I shall fetch you a glass of water first.' He stood up from his chair, lingering, wanting he could muster the courage to touch her, if only to lay a reassuring hand upon hers. But he couldn't. She wove her fingers together in a nervous gesture, pressed her lips and knitted her browes in the same distressing way.

'Thank you,' she whispered and then gave him a very quivering and uncertain smile, 'perhaps the impulse to run to you wasn't that stupid after all.'

And now he had to flee to the kitchen to get that glass of water, if only to prevent himself from doing something utterly insane.

When he returned she already had fallen asleep. He stood a long while, just looking at her, trying to find the right feeling for her and at the same time dismissing that very feeling because it was too dangerous. In the end he threw a blanket over her and took once again possision in the chair opposite to the one she occupitied. At last, he too, fell asleep. And for the first time since ages he didn't got plagued with nightmares.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The moment Hawke opened her eyes, her head got attacked with a heavy axe and she hoped wholeheartedly that was indeed figuratively. She closed her eyes again, put a hand over them and groaned.

'Oh Maker, what the hell have I been doing?'

'Antivan brandy.'

The voice hit her brain like a saw, be it a saw made out of warm and rich velvet with a generous splash of molten dark sugar and more than a touch of - Remembrance struck and she groaned even louder, this time out of shame. She wanted to disappear into the first hole in the ground available. At now other body parts began to ask for her attention; her back and shoulders for instance were stiff and sore and she realised she was sitting in a chair, or rather draped into and over one. She found out she was covered with a blanket and she clung on to the cloth as if it could make her invisible. After a couple of moments she dared to take a peek. Fenris was standing before her, his face wearing a perfectly blank expression. There was no trace of a smile or consideration, on the other hand she could find no scorn or anger either. He held out a steaming mug.

'I thought you would like some coffee,' he said, 'thankfully I found some in the kitchen.' She let go of the blanket and accepted the proffered mug.

'Thank you,' she murmured, 'exactly what I need right now.' She grunted some more while she tried to sit straight and her whole body screamed out in agony. 'I'm sorry; I've made a hopeless fool of myself last night.'

'Antivan brandy does tend to do that to people,' he retorted while he took place in his own chair.

'That stuff should be prohibited,' she agreed. 'But then again, being wanted by a Seeker isn't very good for your health either.'

'As far as I understand, the Seeker's health has suffered much more from her actions than yours did.'

Despite herself Hawke had to laugh which caused another axe-assault.

'O bloody hell,' she growled, 'I truly hope you don't think I'm always like this. Please belief me when I tell you that I usually don't behave like a hysterical idiot.'

'Perhaps next time you better stick to ale or wine,' Fenris said mildly.

'Perhaps I should.' And then she remembered how she had been yelling at her companions, and the way she had left them. She sighed heavily before taking a small sip of the coffee. Hot and strong. Perfect, one positive thing this morning. 'I'm afraid you're not the only one I have to apologise to. I have been acting like a complete moron to everyone.'

'I'm certain they will understand,' Fenris said. Even in the way she looked at this moment, with bloodshot eyes, a sickly white face and hair like a bird's nest, she still was dangerously attractive. He had been observing her for the last few hours, all the while reflecting on the things she had told him. Again he had tried to get angry and again he had failed. Instead he had pledged to himself he would keep his defences up. Despite her beauty and vulnerability she still was a mage after all. And besides that ... the mere thought that someone could be able to tear down his inner walls was too terrifying to even consider. Better to keep his distance, in every way possible. He was relieved when she finally left and the more annoyed with himself when he realised he missed her presence at the same time. He took his sword and descended to the large hall on the ground-floor to practise his battle-movements to at least try to get her out of his mind for some hours.

A week passed. Hawke had made aments with everyone she had offended although to her relief she found they hadn't been that much offended at all. Except for her brother of course but that was to be expected. More important was that despite all their efforts, they hadn't been able to find even the slightest clue about the dead Seeker or the one presumably still alive. The good news was there hadn't been any other attacks.

'You know,' Aveline said one afternoon while she and Hawke were taking a stroll through Hightown in the gentle spring sun, 'I'm starting to think that woman wasn't a Seeker after all but just some assassin. In your year as a Red Iron mercenary you have made quite a few enemies. It could well have been someone who tried to take revenge for whatever you did to them.'

Hawke nodded in agreement. The same thought had also crossed her mind after she had been able to see the case in a sound perspective. 'We simply assumed she was a Seeker because of that pendant but she could have obtained that thing in so many ways. She even could have made it herself, or have it made it for her. I mean, the symbol of the Seekers is widely known. She could have been an admirer, wanting to be one of them, although I can't see why,' she added somewhat sourly. 'In any case her behaviour wasn't very characteristic for a Seeker. I believe they are usually more subtle than your average Templar, but they have the authority to drag you away and clap you in iron on a whim. They answer only to the Divine. No need to use stealth.'

'I doubt even the Divine has any power over them,' Aveline grinned.

And with that they let the issue rest although they stayed vigilant.

She had seen Fenris only once during that week, when he had agreed to accompany her to the Wounded Coast together with Aveline and Isabela to root out a nest of raiders who had been terrorising the route leading to Starkhaven. He had been very silent on that assignment, not willing to participate in the conversations, only answering with one-word sentences when someone asked him a question. Even Isabela had given up hope to coax something interesting out of him despite all her efforts. Her sexual teemed remarks had made Hawke cringe and Aveline swear out loud but Fenris seemed not have been effected at all.

'You really have turned brooding into a sport,' the pirate queen had complained, frustrated by the lack of reaction. That had made Hawke feel a little better although she wondered why the elf was so distant. She feared it was because of the way she had invaded the privacy of his house in the middle of the night and the confession about the existence of Anders and Merrill. Which was the reason why she had neither of them asked to come with them that day. She hoped he would come by.

This night it was raining. Or rather it seemed that countless bathtubs were emptied from the evening sky. The word "pour" was by far insufficient to describe the amount of water showering down. Hawke thought it wise to don her dark grey waxed cloak although she hated the heavy shapeless garment. But on the other hand she also hated to look like a drowned cat and although it was not very far from her uncle's hovel to the Hanged Man, she was positive she would look like one once she had arrived there.

'Oh darling, surely you don't want to go out in this weather!' her mother protested when she saw her eldest wrapping the cloak around the leather armour she was wise enough to wear in a place like Lowtown. Even if it wasn't her intent to fight, it might be somebody else's intent and you'd better go prepared. That's also why she neither went anywhere without her daggers, magic or no.

'I have an appointment with my friends, mother,' Marian said, not being fooled by the so easily used word "darling". 'I would disappoint them by staying away. Besides that, I know how to swim, don't worry.'

'I really wished you would stay away from that dreadful place,' her mother complained, of course she knew exactly where her daughter was headed, 'it's bad enough that you're brother lingers there so often but it is absolutely no place for a decent woman.'

_You should know where your son lingers quite often also_, Hawke thought but didn't say aloud. It would be a sin to spoil the fun for Isabela and herself by not being able to threaten Carver anymore to tell Leandra about his visits to the Blooming Rose. They all knew their mother would have a fit, Maker knew why. It was nothing but normal that a young man of his age had certain urges and to relieve them with the ladies of the Rose was a much better idea than making use of one of the many whores that roamed the streets of Lowtown.

Marian opened the rickety door and a gush of wind slapped a cold splash of rain into her face.

'Well, if wishes were poppies we would all be dreaming right now,' she snapped, quoting her uncle when he had been trying to explain why he had lost the Amell estate in Hightown, 'ask your brother, he seems to know all about that,' and at those words she slammed the door shut behind her. The flare of anger cooled almost immediately when she descended the steps that led to the street below. She felt a pang of guilt and hoped that her mother hadn't heard her vicious remark although she was almost certain she had. The wind may have scattered her words but her mother had a sharp hearing. She didn't deserve that, she had gone through the same ordeals of the Blight as her children. She had lost her husband and her youngest daughter. But their relationship, never very warm at the best of times, had become icy since the death of Bethany. Especially because her mother had given her the blame of that horrible occurrence. As if it hadn't been hard enough to witness her baby sister being crushed by that dreadful ogre before she could have intervened. And before that she had silently accused her of the dead of her father. Hawke had read it in her eyes although her mother never had said it out aloud, not after what ... She groaned silently. Not now. Not ever again. She had casted those gruesome memories aside or at least locked them away in a secret place somewhere in the depths of her mind. And she wouldn't allow them to break out to haunt her.

She took a deep breath before she pushed open the door of the Hanged Man. Almost immediately she got surrounded by the smell, to put it mildly, of cheap liquor, stale ale and body odour, the latter even more strongly present because of the wetness due to the deluge outside. But at the same time she welcomed the warmth and the cosiness although she was well aware that the word cosiness didn't fit to a place filled with the ragtag of society. It was not only wise to wear armour in the dangerous streets of Lowtown, but also in here, just as a pair of sharp daggers could come in handy in a tavern filled with cutthroats, thugs and thieves. It took a few moments to adjust her eyesight to the semi-darkness and she heard the voice sooner then she had spotted the owner.

'Oy Hawke! Over here!' Ah yes, and pirates of course. She headed for the table in the corner where her friends were seated. Isabela was already waving to Corff, the barman, to pour out another round of ale. Varric, sitting next to her, gave her a wide grin. Merill, at the head of the table, turned her head to give her a bright smile.

'So nice to see you Hawke!' she merrily exclaimed. She was almost immediately drowned out by the dwarf's loud melodious voice.

'Hawke! There you are! Maybe _you_ can convince the brooding elf over there to participate in an innocent game of wicked grace,' he called out cheerfully.

'Nothing with you is ever innocent, Varric,' she automatically replied before his words caught up with her mind. Only now her eyes fell upon Fenris who, to her defence, had tried to make himself invisible in the darkest corner of the tavern. She was grateful for the lack of light so no one could see her expression. Her fingers, already untying the laces of her cloak, stopped altogether.

'I'm surprised Mother allowed you to come,' her brother Carver said badgering. He was, of course, sitting as close to Merrill as he dared without risking too much comment. Perhaps she should start to threaten him to tell the small elf about his visits to the Rose. She grinned at the possibilities that would bring.

'Well, I believe I'm old enough to make my own decisions, thank you very much. It's time she understands that she no longer can boss me around. (_As if she ever has been able to)._ And neither can you,' she added in an ominous tone. Carver could be such a pain in the ass. In fact he _was_ a pain in the ass, constantly. She continued unfastening her cloak.

'O bloody hell,' she heard Isabela curse, undoubtedly preventing another nasty argument between sister and brother, 'that son of a bitch gets lazier by the day.' She pushed back her chair and Marian didn't have to turn her head to know that she was elbowing her way to the bar to repeat her order for the round of ale. Loudly. And elbowing was of course not the right word to describe how she made the men simply disappear out of her path. They would jump back out of respect, completely mesmerised, either gasping at her appearance or mortally afraid of her sharp tongue and ditto knives. Those would be the ones with experience.

'How does she manage that?' Hawke heard Merrill sigh. She was standing behind her so she wasn't able to see her face but she could clearly imagine her large innocent looking eyes, so not fitting with being a blood mage. It was still a puzzle.

'Daisy, they all have suffered from broken fingers and various other inconveniences by making the wrong decisions,' Varric chuckled.

'No! I mean the way she ... swaggers. How her hips move. Ah, I wish I could do that. It looks so elegant.'

'Really? I thought it looked more like sex on legs,' Hawke said dryly. Varric heaved his mug at her.

'Very well observed Hawke,' he grinned, 'the way the men react to her, I'm positive that she would start a riot if she'd sway that hips an inch wider.'

'Perhaps you could take lessons,' Anders remarked with a hint of irritation in his voice. Another one she hadn't noticed before. But he also had withdrawn into the shadows.

'I thought Justice didn't agree with you getting drunk any longer,' she smiled. He lifted a glass of water as a toast.

'I'm afraid he is getting his way,' he said glumly. Hawke laughed in response.

'I can already tell that we are going to have a lot of fun with you tonight,' she grinned. 'And by the way, would you really want to see Varric sway his hips like that? I think _that_ will start a serious riot.' Despite the dim light she could see Anders roll his eyes.

'I meant Merrill of course,' he grumbled. Indeed, no fun at all.

'Are you planning to stand the whole night or are you finally going to pick a seat.' Isabela was passing her with a tray full of mugs she deftly manoeuvred with one hand between Carver and Merrill before putting it on the table while she pushed Hawke with her other hand to the only vacant chair. It happened to be the chair next to Fenris. She slumped down, rather clumsily due to the pirate's push, and almost fell over. She would have ended in the elf's lap if she wouldn't have clasped the rim of the table just in time. She sprayed him with droplets of rain that spattered of the wet cloak.

_Bloody pirate, I know you did that on purpose. I should smoulder you._ She managed to give the elf a lopsided smile.

'Sorry about that. But nice to see you here,' she said. He stared back at her with his fathomless silvery green look and raised one hand deliberately slow to remove a raindrop from his cheek.

'I heeded your advice,' and his voice like burned sugar crawled down her spine. He flashed her the briefest of smiles. 'At least I must give you that this is by far the most interesting place I ever visited,' he said. She composed herself.

'I'm sure you will enjoy it, 'she said optimistically while she draped her cloak over the back of the chair. She noticed that he was just wearing his leathers, not his steel breastplate and apparently he had changed his sharp gauntlets for supple leather gloves, now lying on the table next to him. A quick look at the side of his chair taught her that he had taken a lighter longsword with him instead of his heavy broadsword. Good thinking, this equipment would be of more use in the narrow winding streets of Lowtown than his usual outfit. She reached for her mug of ale.

'I mentioned interesting, not joyful,' he said in a dark tone. 'Considering I am surrounded by three mages and a dwarf who wants to bet the money out of my pockets, you may count yourself lucky by finding yourself still alive by inviting me here.'

She took a deliberate long gulp of her ale without swallowing a lot of the liquid. She wanted very hard to ignore his barbed remark about being surrounded by _three_ mages. She counted herself hardly as one, at least that was what she wished to think. She didn't act like a mage after all. She fought as a rogue, although she couldn't deny she used magic to defend herself and the ones around her at the moment her daggers defied her and she needed to keep her companions alive. She knew he considered her otherwise. It stung but this was the last place and moment she wanted to put up a fight, she was far too pleased he had shown up this evening. She turned to him but avoided to look into his silvery green eyes. Instead she focused on his tangled moonlike hair which was hardly any better. She forced a smile. _Blasted bloody intriguing elf._

'Well,' she said, 'since you haven't made an effort to rip the heart out of my chest yet, I take it you are having a damn good time. In your own way. You could do Varric a pleasure to participate in his stupid game though. That would give _him_ a damn good time, you know.' She had expected to be scolded, or at least to receive a nasty glower.

Instead of that he gave her a smile full of mischief, ever so brief and ever so crushing. It left her completely breathless en unable to speak. It didn't matter anyway because at the same moment he turned to the dwarf who was entangled in a hot discussion with the pirate queen. Undoubtedly about her cheating at cards, Of course he had lost three sovereigns and of course she _had_ been cheating but he couldn't prove it.

'Deal me in,' Fenris said. Hawke was astonished. As was Varric.

'You did it,' he beamed at her, 'I knew if anyone could convince him it would be you. Well, elf, have you ever played wicked grace before?' Fenris's glare was unreadable.

'No,' he said, 'but I'm sure I'll pick it up along the way.'

'In that case, handsome, we will play a few rounds without gambling,' Isabela purred, 'I would hate the thought of taking advantage of you.' _Yeah right_

'No need,' Fenris responded with that low voice that made Marian's stomach knot together although she cursed herself for it. _Bloody hell, get over it_.

'O but Fenris, she is so very good at this,' Merill's childlike voice protested, 'you really should try to learn the rules first, they are so intricate, I still don't understand them. It's like trying to sway your hips, you keep tripping over your feet!' Fenris didn't even give her a look but Hawke wondered, not for the first time, whether the elven mage wasn't half the child she seemed to be or if it was something Dalish. Carver leaned closer.

'This could be interesting,' he grinned. He took the opportunity to lay his arm over the back of Merrill's chair, his hand not an inch from her shoulder.

'Interesting is not even beginning to describe it,' Varric smiled. 'But Rivaini, with this one your usual weapons won't suffice, I'm afraid.'

'What, she is not going to _stab_ him, isn't she?'Merrill shrieked. Even Hawke had to laugh at this, after a jealous look at Isabela's lustrous and inviting cleavage. Luckily the rest of her barely concealed exotic body was hidden under the table.

'I hardly believe she will attack him with her daggers,' Anders smirked.

'Well, honeycomb, let's start this,' Isabela said with a hot look of her kohl surrounded velvet dark eyes that would take down every man present. All but Fenris, so it seemed. 'If you win more than five sovereigns of off me, I'll throw in a round of whisky as well.'

Six rounds later she was utterly crushed and defeated. Fenris was comfortably leaning back into the back of his chair, his dark brows slightly raised in what might be an amused expression.

'Want another round?' he asked relaxed. He had stretched his long legs under the table and was studying her with mild interest. Isabela looked flushed, well frankly, she looked completely devastated. And very angry.

'You promised to deal everyone a glass of the infamous Hanged Man's whisky if you should lose more than five sovereigns,' Varric happily helped Isabela remind her to her promise. He laughed out loud while the pirate did her walk of shame to the counter.

'I thought you didn't know the game of wicked grace,' Marian hissed. Beside her Fenris chuckled very uncharacteristically. She felt her head spin. _What did I tell you, you absolute dim-witted fool. Stop it._

'I didn't. But after an evening of observation it turned out not to be such a difficult game.' He paused for a few heartbeats and added, 'especially when you know where the pirate queen stuffs her precious cards and you bother with counting the deck.'

Oh Maker, he was a witty one, at least he _could_ be if he wanted to. It made her heart flutter. And he was intelligent. And devastatingly handsome. And, yes, broody. But he wasn't at this moment. This moment he fully smiled at her. She automatically returned the favour, she couldn't resist. It was such a rare scene that she forgot the sourly insult of being surrounded by three mages, uttered not an hour ago.

She got distracted by a very venomous Isabela who almost flung a tray full of glasses on the table.

'And you better enjoy it,' she threatened, turning to Fenris. The elf raised his brow. 'Either that or I throttle or rape you.' With that she slumped back into her chair, crossed her arms over her ample bosom and surrounded herself with a dark cloud of anger. Varric was immensely amused. In fact he roared with laughter.

'It's been a long time since someone bested Rivaini at playing carts,' he guffawed, 'this will make a wonderful story indeed!' After a few snorts he added, 'She will get over it, don't worry about that.'

Isabela unfolded her arms and shook her head. 'As a matter of fact, the last one who bested me was the Hero of Ferelden and I didn't feel offended by her at all. I mean, the one that slew the Archdemon! It's almost as good as getting beaten by a incredibly handsome elf. Damn you Varric, it's such a pity you had to spoil my dramatic act,' she sighed. Anders groaned.

'This is all getting very tiresome,' he complained. And again, no fun at all.

'Well, if you don't like it, sweetheart, you can always take your glass of water and disappear back into the Undercity,' Isabela retorted. Hawke noticed Merill was still looking wide-eyed at the pirate.

'Did you really want to kill him?' Merrill sounded both respectful and terrified.

'Of course not, kitten,' Isabela giggled, 'what woman in her sound mind would be so silly to want to murder an irresistible gorgeous broody elf like that. I however_ would _want to drag him to my room and -'

At the very moment Hawke wanted to interfere, by slapping the pirate in her face for example, Anders jumped up.

'It's getting late, I should go back to the clinic,' he said. Merrill also stumbled onto her feet. She looked rosy after finishing her second mug of ale. She hadn't touched the glass of whisky at all.

'Shall I accompany you home?' Hawke asked, knowing that Merrill didn't handle alcohol that well and had an astonishing talent of getting lost. She dreaded the idea of the petite elf wandering through night-time Lowtown, not being able to find her little house in the Alienage and ending up in the Undercity, although she knew Varric paid a lot of people a considerable amount of money to keep her safe.

'I don't think that is necessary,' Anders said, 'I can drop her off.' He stretched his hand towards Merill but before she could accept Carver jumped up, almost knocking over his chair.

'I will escort you home. That is, if you let me,' he added hastily. With some effort Hawke stifled a grin. Her brother was almost cute in his clumsy way of courting the little elf. Merrill looked up at him with her large eyes.

'O yes, I would like that. But it is not too much of trouble, is it?'

'Not at all,' Carver said, gripping her arm when she almost fell over. With a sigh of relieve Marian watched the three of them leaving the Hanged Man. One grumpy man gone and Merrill safely taken home by her brother. Good riddance of two annoying males.

She reached for her glass of whisky, or at least the liquid that passed for whisky in the Hanged Man. Halfway she felt Fenris's look upon her so she turned her head towards him. Yes, he was definitely looking at her although he tried to hide it by quickly turning his gaze away from her.

'What's so fascinating?' she asked in a teasing tone, letting him know that she had noticed his interest in whatever it was. He looked back at her, clearly flustered at being caught.

'I, nothing,' he stammered after a few moments, merely because she refused to take her look of him, 'I was just looking at your wrists,' he managed sullenly. She stared at him in disbelieve.

'My wrists? What is wrong with my wrists?'

He shrugged reluctantly. She put the glass of whisky back on the table without taking her eyes of him, clearly demanding an answer. He couldn't ignore that glance.

'Nothing really. I was just thinking that they look very slim and fragile for someone with such a vicious blow,' he volunteered after another few rather heavy moments. She chuckled and moved the discussed joint here and fro. At least he was referring to her capacity as a rogue now, leaving that vile "mage" behind.

'On the other hand, they are rather supple,' she pointed out with a grin. Fenris's sigh sounded annoyed.

'It was meant as a complement,' he said lamely. She raised her eyebrows in astonishment. A compliment. From him. And the Hanged Man hadn't collapsed at his words. She looked from the shock of white, moonlike hair, always in disorder as if he restlessly was pulling his hands trough it – which he quite often did by the way, undoubtedly without knowing, back to his astonishing shining green eyes, green with that shade of silver that made them even more intense. She backed down a sudden shiver. The feeling passed and she answered him with the easy wit which was her own.

'Why, no one has ever given me a compliment about my wrists before. It's invigorating to find out they are so interesting.' Her eyes twinkled with joy and tomfoolery. 'This is a rare occasion. I truly thank you.' She threw him a sidelong glance and saw his embarrassment. She knew she shouldn't but couldn't help herself. She felt quite giddy at the moment and that undoubtedly helped to push her into the danger zone.

'You're blushing,' she chuckled. He reacted as was expected.

'I don't blush.' His voice sounded dark as burned sugar. Again. As a night full of that incredibly hot sex she still hadn't experienced ... _for the Maker's sake, don't go that way. Get a grip!_

'Oh yes you do. And you look cute while doing so,' she added recklessly. She wasn't prepared for his reaction. His hand shot out and closed around her left wrist with such a force that it almost made her flinch. Instead she managed to keep a straight face although her heart shot into her throat.

'I hope you understand – 'he started but his voice faltered immediately when he realised the graveness of his action. He had passed his own boundary of no touch, and worse, with this touch he hurt her. He immediately loosened his grip. To his astonishment she just smiled. And that smile was the reason why his hand lingered.

The boundary of no touch. He had drawn a line and _she_ hadn't crossed it, _he_ had. But she had lured him into touching her, hadn't she? He should withdraw his hand but he couldn't. He was shocked by his own reaction, primitive and raw, by how she had driven him over the edge with her twinkling impossible blue eyes, her low slightly gravelly voice, her teasing words. By the warmth and softness of her skin. And by the small enigmatic smile she gave him while her sapphire look bored into his eyes,

'That you can snap my bones as easily as if they were dry twigs,' she completed the sentence he had cut down. 'Yes, I'm well aware of that.' The smile never left her face and it bewildered him highly. He had expected a slap in his face, a snarl, a nasty remark. Not this.

'Of course I would never do that,' he breathed in utter confusion. She looked him straight in his eyes, always with that disconcerting, maddening smile.

'I know.' Her husky voice intoxicated him.

He couldn't think clearly, not after her calm reaction, not after the low tone of her voice, not after her steady look. His long slender fingers lingered from her wrist along her hand almost at a will of their own.

It was all she could do to back down a gasp when his thumb caressed the palm of her hand. It drove shivers down to her stomach, right to the spot where all sensitivity knotted together. And at the same time his fingers entwined with hers. It was too much to bear, she wanted to embrace him, to kiss him, to … without even knowing, she had closed her eyes and let this unexpected emotion come over her. It almost drove her wild.

Nearly at the same time his touch overwhelmed her, he jerked back his hand. It was a feeling of ultimate loss. She felt suddenly cold and utmost alone. She realized she finely dared to take a breath for very long moments. She almost whimpered.

She tried to compose herself, hoping no one had noticed this unexpected intimate ... erotic moment. She hardly dared to glance at him but did it never less, only to see that he looked flushed and bemused. Much as she did, she assumed.

'Well, sweetness, don't like your drink?'

Isabela's voice dragged her back to the here and now. Any other to call her sweetness and she would have drawn her knives, but she knew the pirate meant well. Although … she saw the glowing glance she threw at Fenris and it was enough to ignite a nasty feeling of jealousy.

_You bitch._ The thought merely past her mind before she saw the elf push back his chair, gather his gloves and sword and with a curt nod said his goodbye. His gaze lingered for a short moment upon her face. She couldn't help to look back and give him a rather sheepish grin, it was the best she could manage anyway at this awkward moment. She hated herself for acting as such an idiot. And then he was gone.

Isabela chuckled.

'You made quite an impression on him,' she giggled.

Suddenly Hawke felt annoyed and tired.

'O, shut up,' she snapped. All she wanted now was a bed, or even the rough pelt of her marbari to lie against. That would be better than go through the scolds of her brother in any case. She stood up and pushed back her chair. 'See you tomorrow,' she said with a half-heartedly smile at Isabela and Varric. She donned her cloak and walked out of the Hanged Man in the still pouring rain.

All the way home she felt his touch, his thumb tracing the lines of her palm, his fingers caressing hers. She had to bite back tears when she finally managed to reach her uncle's house and crashed down at Elrond's side, putting her arms around him and breathing in his doggish sent. She cursed herself for being so upset. What the hell was it with that elf that made her feel this way? She bloody well wouldn't allow herself to fall in love. Not with him; not with someone who hated mages. With no one at all. There were too many issues to deal with, too many problems to tackle. She had no time to fall in love. The marbari responded with a single lick and a snugger. As if he understood. Which he probably did. And at last she managed to fall asleep.

And another night was spent with roaming through the mansion. And looting the cellar. And drinking too much wine. He hated her. Hated her for being a mage. Hated her for making a turmoil of his head. Hated her for dragging his life upside down. He really had to learn to deal with this, this _woman_.


	6. Chapter 6

**First I want to apologise for posting the last chapter twice. That, of course, was not my intent but sometimes I get in a terrible row with my computer and this time the computer won. I hope it won't happen again but I'm afraid I can't promise anything.**

**More about Seekers this time and a certain mercenary.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 6

Meeran hadn't survived all those years by being a fool. He was clever enough not to bite off more than he could chew. For example he had never wanted to burn his fingers on the profitable but dangerous lyrium smuggling. The Carta and the Coterie were far too mighty to cross; he had stumbled too many times upon corpses of little criminals who thought they could outsmart the two cartels but only had ended up dead instead of rich. Meeran had always stuck to the so called protection of the Lowtown merchants what guaranteed a constant flow of money into his coffers. Occasionally he accepted jobs like the assassination of certain people that got in the way of other people and he meddled with theft and robbery. Sometimes a little smuggling was part of his business but that was just about spices, expensive silks and other luxury goods, especially from Orlais. It allowed him a standard of living he was more than content with.

He had set up his headquarters in the Docks where he could not only keep an eye out on the incoming ships but also on the doings of the Carta and Coterie which too had their offices down there; it usually paid out to know what they were up to, if only to know when to keep out of their way. The headquarters were not meant for clients. Meeran worked in accordance with the "chain-principle" i.e. someone knew someone who knew someone who on his turn knew someone else who could contact a certain person who might have access to the Red Iron. He kept strangers out of his stronghold for safety reasons. It had worked pretty well, up till now that is.

At this moment he was feeling very annoyed. He had been disturbed in the middle of his meal but that was not the worst part. The disturbance was caused by a stranger and that had never happened before. Angrily he wondered what the men who were supposed to stand guard had been doing. Drinking and playing cards he supposed. Before him stood a tall figure, clad in a long dark cloak that hid whatever armour or clothes he wore underneath. What it didn't hide was a large, menacing sword. Due to the dim light, casted by a few candles and oil lamps, Meeran couldn't make out much of the man's features, except for a pair of severe piercing eyes. He was alone but Meeran quickly came to the conclusion the intruder was more than capable to walk away unscratched, leaving just dead men in his trail. And when he looked in those frightening eyes, that was precisely what Meeran feared right now.

'How many of my men have you killed?' he asked as cool as he could manage.

'None. I'm not here to kill,' the man replied in a low voice that radiated authority. It was a peremptory voice, clearly not used to objections. He spoke with a slight accent that Meeran couldn't place. The mercenary emptied his mug of ale and pushed away his plate. His men were apparently still alive; that, at least, was something positive. Later he would find out how the stranger had been able to intrude his domain and punish the ones responsible. Time to tackle the next riddle; evidently at some point the "chain" had sustained a kink.

'How did you find me?'

'It is my job to find anyone I want to be found. I understand it is your job to kill anyone when you get paid for it.'

'You want to have someone killed, then? And who might that be?'

'I not only want someone to be killed but I want it specifically done by a person who, as I have reasons to believe, is in your service. A woman by the name of Marian Hawke.'

Meeran slowly leaned back into his chair, wiping his mouth. He narrowed his eyes. Interesting. 'Why her?'

'Because I've heard she's the best.'

'If you can track down any person you want, then why not go straight to her?' Meeran cunningly asked.

'The reasons are my own.' The man started to sound irritated. Meeran nodded. He decided it was no use to argue and risky to boot.

For a moment Meeran considered to tell the man to piss off; this was getting tricky. The stranger obviously wasn't aware of the fact the woman didn't work for him any longer and he wasn't at all sure she would accept this assignment. But then he caught once more the look in the most inexorable, harsh, steady and darkest eyes he had ever seen and dismissed the idea. He cut the knot. If the man wanted Marian Hawke, he'd get Marian Hawke, even if he himself would be forced to make her do the job.

'It will cost you extra,' he said without blinking an eye, 'she is indeed my best and you have to pay – let us call it insurance if you want to hire her. To cover the risk she gets injured or worse.'

'Money is not an issue.' The man dropped a heavy clinking coin purse on the table. 'Twenty sovereigns,' he declared 'you can count them if you wish. And twenty more when the job is done.'

Meeran tried very hard to keep a straight face as if this amount of money went through his hands on a daily basis. 'So now will you tell me what this is all about?'

The man handed him a sealed letter. 'The only thing you have to do is pass this letter on to her. All the information she'll need is in here.'

'And what will hold me back to open it once you're gone?'

The man didn't even raise an eyebrow. 'You can try,' he said. Meeran thought it better to leave it at that.

'I will see to it this letter will be delivered to her immediately.'

Without another word the man turned around and walked out of the room. Meeran couldn't help suppress a shiver; he had the nasty feeling someone just walked over his grave.

* * *

Together with Isabela and Varric, Hawke was seated at the table in the dwarf's suite. She reread the two letters that were delivered at the Hanged Man not half an hour before. The first one, more a message than a letter was from Meeran; even before opening it, she had recognized his scribble.

_Hawke, if this job is done right, I promise you a good pay. Meeran._

The second letter was in a neat handwriting and a lot more intriguing.

_Messere Hawke,_

_I want you to go to the DuPuis Mansion this very night and eliminate Gascard DuPuis. Though you are a mercenary and therefore not need to know why, I will nevertheless enlighten you. I have all the reasons to believe DuPuis is not only a necromancer but most certainly also a notorious slaver. I have personal motivations to see him killed. Do not disappoint me.'_

There was no name or signature. Pensively Hawked tapped with the letter on her chin.

'Whoever wrote this doesn't know I'm not with the Red Iron anymore and Meeran hasn't made him all the wiser. That means only one thing.'

'A lot of money,' Varric agreed, 'but Hawke, I have to say, this whole thing smells worse than a barrel of fish in a heat wave. A necromancer _and_ a slaver? It's a little exaggerated if you ask me. And why tell you? It seems as if this person wants you at the DuPuis mansion very badly.'

Hawke grinned lopsidedly. 'I recall a certain conversation between the two of us about some serious coin and a suspicious request. Your eyes were shining with the promise of gold back then.'

'It turned out to be a trap,' Varric pointed out.

'But a good intended one,' countered Hawke.

'I have the feeling that the one behind this letter doesn't take no for an answer,' Isabela remarked. She was lazily leaning back into her chair, putting her crossed feet on the table, a glass of rum in her hand. 'I mean, _"I want you to go" _and_ "Do not disappoint me" _does not sound as if he is asking you a favour, mere the opposite. He might be dangerous.'

'He thinks I'm still working for Meeran. You don't ask favours from mercenaries. You give them an assignment and pay them for a job well done.'

'Still ... would he like chains and leather I wonder,' the pirate mused.

'Andraste's tits, not now Isabela,' Hawke groaned. She turned to the dwarf. 'Last time, you stated you can always rely upon Bianca. I assume that hasn't changed? Or do I have reasons to be concerned?' That struck a nerve and she knew it. Varric raised a hand.

'Alright, alright, no need to get offensive here. I would just feel better if I knew who this person is. And while we're at it, a little more information about that DuPuis guy wouldn't hurt either. I've heard the name and know where he lives but that's all. I however suppose there is no time to find out any more if we are expected there tonight. Why are you so eager to do this?' Hawke made an impatient gesture, almost knocking over a pitcher with ale.

'Do you want to go into the Deep Roads or not? I don't understand why you are fretting like this. It's just a job about getting rid of a necromancer annex slaver. We haven't been asked to invade Tevinter or abduct the Divine.'

Varric let out a deep sigh. 'Fine. But let's ask the elf to join us. He lives nearby and if it gets messy we don't only have Bianca but also a big and mean sword to count on.'

'Hmm, would _he_ like chains and leather, maybe velvet blindfolds or whipped cream ...' Isabela ruminated dreamily with half closed lids, slowly swirling the rum in her glass.

'Would you please shut up!' Hawke yelled irritably, feeling a painful bolt of jealousy, 'And get your mind off sex just for once!'

Isabela snapped her eyes open. 'You really should get laid, Hawke. I think it's too long ago since someone got into your pants in the good way.'

Hawke grinded her teeth but didn't reply. It was no use to bicker with the pirate queen, especially not about this subject. She stood up. 'Let's go kill a necromancing slavering bastard,' she said determinedly.

* * *

The four of them were gathered in the deep shadows between a couple of lanterns, just opposite the DuPuis Mansion in Hightown. The house was plunged into darkness and silence.

'The place seems to be abandoned,' Varric observed.

'That or this DuPuis person is an early sleeper,' Isabela said. 'Or perhaps he is busy in his cellar with creepy necromancy things.'

Hawke sniggered. 'Wouldn't that be nice, in that case we can catch him red-handedly.'

Fenris didn't comment. He hadn't been too pleased to be asked along, he still had difficulties facing Hawke after what happened three nights ago. On the other hand, there wouldn't be just the two of them and he hadn't wanted to refuse an opportunity of killing a slaver. So he had agreed.

'I would rather not enter the premises through the front door,' Hawke said, 'you never know what you might come across. I think it's better to look for a back entrance.'

'What are you afraid of?' Varric snorted, 'That an army will be waiting for us behind those doors? In my experience the scariest things are found at the back of houses; they are called guard dogs.'

Hawke contemplated this for a moment. 'You have a point,' she gave in, 'if there are dogs, they will wake the whole house. All right, we'll take the front. Isabela, lock picks?'

'Have them right here.'

'Good.' She hoisted the pack she had brought over her shoulder. It contained several healing objects she had deemed useful to take with her. You never could tell what would happen in an encounter with a necromancer.

They let a guardsman pass and sneaked behind his back across the little square to disappear into the porch. Not twenty heartbeats later they were inside. The parlour they entered was dark and they took a few moments to let their eyes adjust. Hawke placed her pack against a wall – no need to drag that around while scouting – and cautiously pushed open the door to the main hall. There a low fire burned in a monumental hearth and a few alabaster lamps had been lighted.

'Seemingly not abandoned after all,' Isabela whispered, 'and now?'

'We start upstairs,' Hawke decided, pointing at the staircase in front of them.

They made it to the middle of the room and then hell broke loose. Armed and armoured men cascaded down the stairs and flowed through the doors right en left from them. Hawke swore out loud.

'I told you it would be a trap,' Varric cried while he retreated till his back was at the door. He had already shouldered his crossbow and loosened a volley.

'Very helpful, Varric,' Hawke shouted back. She cursed Meeran under her breath; there would be some serious questions for him to answer. She narrowly escaped a vicious blow from a broadsword by jumping aside. The next moment her assailant lay dead, killed by Fenris. She had no time to thank him. She swirled and spun through the hall, lashing out her daggers, kicking her legs around, not even noticing if she hit someone. _Moving, always keep moving._ Normally she would work together with her companions but this time there were so many enemies she lost them constantly out of sight. And so she fell back into routine, getting into a trance along the way. There would be no time or chance to use magic, it would take far too long to concentrate and tap into the Fade. She could only rely upon her daggers and the swiftness of her body. And so she kept twirling, thrusting and jolting. Around her people squealed and howled, bolts and arrows screamed, the clashing sound from steel upon steel crashed through the hall.

Her breath became ragged, sweat started to pour into her eyes, her muscles burned. The trance she had worked herself into began to unravel and she knew she couldn't hold on much longer.

'Some assistance would be appreciated,' she heard Varric call out. She turned for the last time and found herself with her back against a wall. About five yards from her, the dwarf had been cornered by three men. She reached for the throwing knife in her boot and hurled the weapon at one of the three, hitting him in the back of his neck. A moment later the other two were also put out of action, one by a crossbow bolt, the second by Isabela. And then, to her astonishment, it was all over. They were surrounded by at least twenty dead bodies, and who knows how many still living ones had fled the scene. The marble floor had turned red with blood and sallow with filth but they had won. Maker knew how.

Hawke desperately tried to catch her breath. She leaned against the wall, eyes closed, panting heavily. For the second time she wondered if Meeran had tried to lure them into a trap but then again, what would he gain by that? She hadn't thwarted him as far as she knew; nevertheless she was determined to confront him with this mess.

'That went well,' Isabela said cheerfully. Hawke shook her head. Did nothing ever upset that woman? She looked up to see that the pirate was already looting the bodies. Yes, very – piraty. She looked further around to check if her other two comrades were also unharmed.

To her horror she saw Fenris sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall next to the stairs with his eyes closed. He looked very pale and was clutching his right shoulder with both hands, blood was spilling through his fingers. Jumping over bodies and slithering through gore, she was with him in a few moments; she dropped on her knees and stretched out her hand. His eyes flew open and he jolted back, almost trying to move into the wall to avoid her.

'Don't touch me,' he croaked.

'Don't be daft,' Hawke said sternly, 'you're injured, let me take a look.'

'No.'

Hawke sighed.

'Fenris, you're bleeding heavily, you need help.'

'_No!_'

Hawke stood up, her face a neutral mask.

'Alright, have it your way. If you rather bleed to death then getting touched, be my guest.' She started to walk away, counting in her head. _One ... two ... three ..._

'Hawke, wait.' She smiled inwardly. 'No magic,' Fenris said hoarsely. She turned back.

'This must be your lucky day,' she said in a mildly mocking tone while she again squatted beside him, 'I don't know anything about healing magic. Now let us get you out of that armour.'

'No.'

'You are getting repetitive,' she said slightly annoyed, 'I can't accomplish anything with all that spiky steel around you. Or do you expect me to examine you and patch you up _through_ it?' Fenris let out a frustrated growl but started to unclasp his breastplate without further protests. Under it he wore leather protection and without asking his permission Hawke unfastened the delicate buckles because his fingers were too slippery with blood. And probably not only his own. His last line of defence turned out to be a sleeveless linen shirt, momentarily drenched with blood, and he held on to that as if his life depended on it.

'I didn't know you were this prudish, but with Isabela around I suppose you are right with your precaution,' Hawke chortled. Fenris glared daggers at her and suddenly she realised it had nothing to do with prudence but everything with his markings. She knew he wasn't happy with those but now she started to wonder whether he was ashamed of them as well. She decided not to push her luck and so she drew the small razor sharp dagger she wore at her belt and made a cut in the fabric of his shirt to get better access to the wound. 'I guess it will work this way,' she said gently.

'Varric,' she called out to the dwarf without turning her head, 'do me a favour and bring me my pack, will you.' There was so much blood that at first she couldn't estimate the gravity of the injury but then she saw the blade had gone clean through his shoulder. She decided to cut the whole seam of his shirt on the top of his shoulder and at least he let her do it. She rummaged around in the pack Varric had brought over and retrieved a healing potion.

'Let's start with this,' she said, uncorking the small bottle and placing it into Fenris's hand. The elf swallowed the contents without complaining although it tasted as if the liquid was scooped up out of some gutter. In the meantime Hawke tried to staunch the bleeding at his front, using a thick cotton cloth.

'Hold this,' she ordered and Fenris did so obediently, gradually getting too numb to protest against anything. She removed another cloth from her pack and pushed it firmly against the back of his shoulder. He clenched his jaws and almost succeeded in stifling a groan.

'I'm sorry, I know it hurts but I really have to try to stop the bleeding as fast as possible,' Hawke said excusing. He grumbled something incomprehensible as response.

'You come prepared,' Varric remarked, partly amused and partly with admiration.

'One has to when one has no magic healer available,' Hawke answered dryly without taking her eyes off of the elf, 'we'll wait a little while until the potion kicks in.' After a few minutes she removed the pieces of cloth and grunted satisfied. The bleeding had come to a halt.

'Hawke,' Isabela's voice suddenly chimed, 'I think you want to see this.'

'In a moment,' Marian answered. She started to apply a yellow coloured ointment from a little pot on both slashes. She froze when out of nowhere a silver item with a well known symbol started dangling before her eyes.

'Looks familiar, doesn't it?' Isabela said softly into her ear, holding the silver chain to which the pendant was attached.

'Bloody hell, not another one. What the fuck does this mean?!' Hawke swallowed back a lot of other curses and took a deep breath. With great effort she succeeded to compose herself. 'Okay. It can wait. First things first.' She returned her attention to Fenris and dressed the wounds with a thick layer of linen bandages trying hard to restrain her hands from trembling.

'This is all I can do for now,' she said when she was done, 'fortunately your lung isn't punctuated but you lost a lot of blood. Just wait here for a moment.' Without waiting for a response she stood and turned to Isabela. 'Where is the body you found that thing on?' The pirate pointed out one of the dead, lying roughly in the middle of the hall. It turned out to be a woman. But further investigation taught her nothing more than she already knew. Same plain armour as the first one had worn. Nothing significant.

'This is the only pendant you have found?'

'Yes, the others had nothing more on them then some cheep jewellery and a few coins.'

Hawke returned to Fenris. 'Can you stand?' The elf nodded and she helped him up. He swayed and she wanted to support him but he waved her of.

'I'll manage,' he said gruffly. She couldn't tell if he had noticed the consternation about yet another pendant. He had not reacted to it, he was probably too busy coping with pain and self-control.

'Suit yourself,' she responded airily but kept watching him closely, 'at least let us walk you home, you're not exactly at your best at the moment. Not that it is that far but you never know.' She picked up his breastplate and leathers, knowing for certain he would fall over if he tried to reach for them. Varric lifted the heavy sword from the floor with visible effort and handed it over to the elf who took it with his left hand. Without a word Fenris started moving to the exit of the mansion, his sword leaning over his unharmed shoulder. He was walking steadily Hawke had to admit. She shrugged her shoulders.

'I suppose that means a yes,' she mumbled. 'Isabela, be a doll and carry my pack for the moment, will you?'

'Of course _darling_. I guess the yelling and cussing will start after our handsome brooding elf is safely delivered home? I must say you sound a little creepy right now. Does it hurt to control yourself so forcefully?' Hawke shot her a fiery glance but was wise enough not to retort.

Standing at Fenris's door she handed him his armour and hesitated for a moment.

'I'll be all right,' Fenris grumbled while he pushed open the front door with his good shoulder. He stepped inside with one foot, lowered his sword and placed it against the wall. After that he dropped his armour on the floor. 'I believe you have other things to bother about. Try not to drink too much Antivan brandy.' So he had noticed.

'Wait,' Hawke said before he disappeared. She fished two other healing potions out of the pack Isabela was still holding and offered them to him. He accepted reluctantly and vanished through the door which he closed behind him with a low thud.

'Well,' Varric said somewhat taken aback, 'a "thank you" would have been nice.'

'He felt vulnerable and exposed,' Hawke said pensively, 'he hates that.'

'Let's go to the Hanged Man,' Isabela suggested, 'I'm in desperate need of a drink.'

Hawke's face changed from pensive into grim and resolute in less than a blink.

'No. I want to search out Meeran and rattle his sorry bones till he spills out the truth,' she said in a menacing tone, 'I don't like this kind of set-ups.'

'Yes, tomorrow sweetness,' Isabela purred soothingly, 'tonight we drink.'

Hawke straightened her shoulders and looked furiously at the pirate. 'We drink later, we're going to rattle some bones right now,' she hissed.

'But it's just the three of us and ...' Varric started but Hawke had already stomped off in the direction of the docks. With a sigh he followed her with Isabela at his side.

'Well, you know Hawke is battalion all of her own when she's angry. Who would be able to stop her?' Isabela said, always the positive one.

'I know I won't,' Varric muttered.

* * *

This time Meeran didn't feel annoyed. This time he was terrified out of his mind. He was facing an extremely enraged Marian Hawke who above all held a dagger to his throat. The woman seemed to be covered with blood albeit not her own. No one could lose that much blood and still live, let alone hold his hair in such a fierce grip and pushing the point of a very sharp knife to his skin.

'What the fuck were you thinking, to sic a Seeker on me, you bloody bastard!' she growled and for a moment Meeran was afraid she would bite his ear of.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he squeaked, 'you must belief me!' To his immense relief she removed the dagger and let go of his hair. She slammed a pendant on the table in front of him.

'_This_ is what I'm talking about. The symbol of the Seekers. That letter you sent me was from one of them. The job was a trap. Now spill out all you know before I change my mind and strangle you with your own innards.'

Meeran took a quivering breath. He stared at the pendant. Only now it got through to him what Hawke had said. A Seeker. No wonder she was so upset. He looked up at her still very angry face. He noticed that the voluptuous pirate had taken a seat on the corner of his table, her long legs nonchalantly dangling. She was seemingly absentmindedly playing with one of her daggers, but he wasn't fooled by her demeanour. She would strike faster than a snake if he'd make one wrong move. The same counted for the dwarf who was at the moment leaning against a crate in a deceptive relaxed way.

'Well?' Hawke said impatiently.

'I did not know that bloke was a Seeker, I really didn't,' Meeran said pleadingly, 'I never would have sent you that letter if I had.' Hawke raised her brows. 'Bloke? Not a woman?'

Meeran shook his head. 'Definitely not a woman. I didn't get a good look at him though, he was covered in a long cloak. In fact I only saw his eyes.' He shivered inwardly at the memory. 'But if I'd known he was out to harm you, I never would have taken his letter, honest,' he added hastily. 'What happened anyway?'

'A lot of people trying to kill us, that happened. What did he say he wanted?'

'He wanted to hire you for an assassination. He asked specifically for you because he said you were the best.' Hawke seemed to be satisfied with his answer. She put the pendant back in her pocket and started pacing the room.

'What do you know about Gascard DuPuis?'

Meeran felt a twang of fear. If that guy was involved the situation became even more dangerous. 'Gascard who?' Something in his voice must have given him away because Hawke turned sharply to him. 'Don't play innocent with me, you're not very good at it.' The pirate began to throw her dagger from one hand to the other.

'I, er I believe he's a mage,' Meeran staggered, 'now and again he orders some goods.'

'If you were planning to sell him body parts, don't bother,' the pirate piped up, 'he's got an entire hall full of those now, all for free.'

'Body parts?' Meeran exclaimed in abhorrence, 'that's disgusting! No, he asked for special rare herbs and minerals. Most I never heard of. What's he got to do with all this?'

Hawke had resumed her pacing. Meeran tried to follow her and at the same time keep an eye on the pirate and the dwarf. He felt a splitting headache beginning to rise at the back of his head.

'We were supposed to murder him. I think you're damn well aware he's a necromancer.' No use to deny so Meeran nodded obediently. 'But what about a slaver enterprise?' Now he was genuinely surprised.

'He is dangerous enough but I can't imagine he has something to do with that. He's not even from Tevinter. He's from Orlais. Did you kill him, by the way?'

'No.' Hawke stopped in front of him and looked at him with an expression between rage and contempt.

'I will leave you for now but if you find anything out, you let me know. Understood?' He nodded meekly. 'And Meeran,' he looked up, 'you're losing your touch. I would be very careful if I were you.' At that she swept out of the room, followed by her companions. The moment she was gone, he jumped up and roared for his first captain.

'Gather the men and all the stuff and equipment, we're moving out.'

The man stared at him blank-faced. 'Why? Where to?'

'I don't give a shit. Lowtown, Hightown, the Undercity as far as I care.' He was not staying in this place one minute longer than necessary. A Seeker might find anyone he wanted to be found, he would make that job as difficult as possible.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much for your reviews! Especially Denfree and Guest whom I can't give a personal answer because of lack of an e-mail address to refer to. **

**A warning up forehand, there is some smut in this chapter although I would hardly call it smut. On the other hand, you are reading a M rated story and M does not only mean foul language ...**

**And now we resume ... I hope you'll enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 7

The moment they reached the quay outside the Red Iron's headquarters Isabela grabbed Hawke's arm and began to drag her along, ignoring her protests.

'I don't care how angry you are. Your bluff worked with Meeran –'

'That was no bluff,' Hawke snarled, still wrapped in the heat of her rage.

'Even worse. You acted like an iceberg back in there, well done, but you'll erupt like a volcano in no time. Or rather you've been the eye of the tornado and between now and a few moments you will want to swoop down on everything and everyone and devastate all in range of at least ten miles. That includes this whole city.' They almost bumped into a party of men while rounding a corner. One of the men whistled appreciatively at them and Hawke reached automatically for her daggers. Isabela yanked her arm. 'You come with me before you start a big row with those losers or the Carta or the Coterie and leave us dead on this quay or in the water. You need a drink to calm you down.'

'Are you done talking yet?' Hawke grunted while being pulled along.

'Not if it means I have to protect you and Varric and me from getting gutted.'

They had reached the top of the stairs leading from the Docks to Lowtown by now. Hawke forced Isabela to a halt. She wanted to scold her, hit her, stab her if need be but she was too busy to collect herself. The two women looked at each other, both slightly out of breath. Hawke's mouth began to twitch; she pressed her lips together trying to avoid the irritating motion but she couldn't stop it. All of the sudden they both burst out laughing at the same time. It was as if a dark spell got lifted.

'I really showed him, didn't I,' Hawke guffawed.

'You did, sweetness,' Isabela hiccupped, 'you should have seen his face!'

'I did, I did. Maker, I thought he would piss himself!'

'I swear he did.' Tears were rolling down the pirate's cheeks by now.

'And to think I worked for that weasel for a year. I should have done this at the beginning!' Hawke hooted.

'_You_ would have been the one ruling the Red Iron by now.' Isabela almost fell over with laughter. She had to sit down on the steps and hold on to her stomach. 'O Andraste's steaming tears, my poor belly!'

Hawke sat down next to her, equally not being able to stand on her feet. 'Let's wait for Varric to catch up with us,' she finally managed

'Indeed. Those short dwarven legs can't run that fast,' Isabela giggled, 'did I say run? I meant scurry,' and after that she went into another fit of hysterical laughter.

'I heard that,' Varric objected when he had reached the same level.

'Don't think wrong of it, I think it's cute,' Isabela chuckled, wiping the tears out of her eyes, 'if you weren't spoken for by Bianca I would have you any time.'

The dwarf looked at the two of them, both with shining eyes, filled with merriment that somehow seemed sinful.

'Women,' he muttered, 'don't listen to them, Bianca, they'll only give you bad advice.'

'She's a woman too,' Marian pointed out, desperately holding on to Isabela, trying not to roll down the stairs.

'Even more dangerous to let her get in touch with you,' Varric said anxiously, viciously defending the love of his life, 'she would only get nasty ideas.'

'Come on Hawke, let's get drunk, and leave Varric to his sharp and demanding lover,' Isabela sniggered, once again taking Hawke's arm had hauling her along to the Hanged Man.

* * *

But Hawke didn't drink much. After the euphoria of successfully threatening Meeran had evaporated, she sank back into contemplating why in the Makers' sake she was wanted by Seekers. Did they know she was a mage? But then again, if so why did they bother? Hunting down and turning in apostates was the work of Templars. What was so damn important about her that the Seekers wanted to intervene? She couldn't find an answer and at last decided to let it go for the moment. There was nothing she could do about it at this time of the night after all.

After she had rinsed of the most of the blood in the small washing room at the back of the Hanged Man, she now sat nursing her mug of ale at the table in Varric's suite, going over the occurrences of the past evening. After she had decided to let the whole Seeker question rest for the moment, her thoughts swirled back to Fenris. At first she had assumed that his reaction of rejecting her help was born out of stubbornness, then because he was angry, with her meddling or even with himself for getting hit. But mulling over the way how he had responded to the whole situation she came to the conclusion that he hadn't looked angry at all. No, the emotion in his eyes had been fear, or better outright panic. Suddenly she grew extremely mad, not with him but with his former master. What had that monster done to him that he was so scared of being touched? That he even had considered death over it? It had been just a few moments, _three short counts,_ but awfully long moments at that; just the mere thought that he really had contemplated the option shocked her to the core. And now she got furious with herself. She should have known. No, she couldn't begin to fathom what he had gone through at the hands of that Magister, but the little information he had given away and especially his rigid attitude towards magic should have warned her. She simply had assumed that he suffered from an overdose of pride in combination with an extreme distrust with the whole of mankind. What an arrogant twat she had been. Indeed, she wasn't able to understand his anguish and torment, but the least she could have done was trying to be considerate. After all, her father had told her enough about the brutalities of the Tevinter Magisters. She wanted to slap herself.

He had touched her before, but that had been his choice. _He_ had touched _her_. She still could feel his thumb lingering on the palm of her hand, his fingers intertwine with hers. Even now the sheer memory made her shiver. And it had made her presume that despite his refusing if not loathed _(or perhaps scared?)_ reaction when she had stumbled into his room, grabbing his arm while losing her equilibrium, touching wasn't as bad for him as he had made believe at that moment. Be it literally or figuratively. But this time he had been hurt. And frightened. She should have known better. Of course in that situation he would have associated touch with pain. Stupid, ignorant fool she had been.

'At this pace you will find great difficulty at getting drunk, sweetness,' Isabela dragged her out of her dark thoughts.

'I don't plan on getting drunk,' Hawke replied grimly, 'not tonight. I've got a lot to do tomorrow and I intend to start early.'

'Like checking on a certain elf,' Varric grinned broadly, 'don't worry Hawke, he won't die just like that. He's a tough one.' _On the outside surely_, Hawke thought, _the rest though ..._

'I know,' she said instead, 'but he is my patient now and I'm responsible for his wellbeing.' The dwarf studied her face but decided to give no further comments. Isabela on the other hand smiled devilishly, saying, 'Just give him the _good_ treatment, Hawke.' Marian didn't even bother to react. She just took a small sip of her ale.

* * *

Fenris woke up drenched with sweat and burning with fever. He tried to sit and a bolt of scorching pain shot through his right shoulder. His head started to spin and with a loud groan he fell back on the soaked sheets, igniting even more pain. He tried to breathe deeply and after a couple of minutes his banging heart had slowed down and his head had stopped reeling. Again he attempted to get up, this time more cautious and finally he found himself standing on two legs next to his bed, with his left hand leaning against the wall till he decided he could do without the support. He shuffled through the room, holding on to the furniture, till he reached the flight of steps and stumbled downstairs to the washing room behind the kitchen, all the time cursing under his breath. What the hell had happened? Why did he feel so, so mangled? Like being crushed between an anvil and an ogre? Slowly his memory returned while he relieved himself in the cracked lavatory pot. It came in fragments and still left a lot of blanks but at least he had something to cling to. He had been fighting and got skewered by a blade of some kind. He had never seen the blasted attack coming. Stupid. He went back to the kitchen, almost tripping over his own feet, bouncing against the kitchen table. His right hand automatically shot out to maintain his balance and it was all he could do to cut down a scream of agony when red-hot pain engulfed him. _Venhedis!_ He waited until the pain had decreased somewhat and then tried to operate the water pump with his left arm. After some effort he had filled a cup with water and drained it in one thirsty gulp. Only now he noticed he had removed his gauntlets and tights and changed the bloodied undershirt for a loose tunic. He even had cleaned himself somewhat but how in the world he had managed all that he couldn't remember. He collected his courage to commence the journey back to his room. He staggered upstairs, all the way clutching the banister as if the bloody thing was his closest friend and finally he reached his goal where he collapsed in a chair, completely exhausted. At first his body felt heated as if a fire was raging through it but after a while he became stone cold and he realised the fire in the hearth had extinguished. It might be spring, but the mornings were still icy cold. This was not Tevinter, let be Seheron. He was too drained to do something about the non existed fire. He closed his eyes, leaned carefully back and hoped with all his might that he would drift off into unconsciousness. His eyelids felt shut.

_She was standing before him, smiling at him. He reached out for her and she took his hand._

'_I know what you want,' she whispered. She led his hand to her bared breast. He closed his eyes and touched her soft, tender and yet firm flesh. He heard her sigh. His fingers found a hard nipple and he tweaked softly. The nipple hardened some more. This time she moaned. The wanting sound of her low voice together with the warm presence of her body so close by mesmerised him. Once again she took his hand. He felt her hold on his fingers and trace them down her flat stomach only to whisper through the curly feminine triangle to pass to her smooth inner thighs. By now she breathed heavily. He realised he did the same. She let go of his hand and his fingers now found their own way, hesitantly ending at her drenched entrance, feeling her desire, feeling his own, but not knowing right now how to continue. She encouraged him by pulling him close to her and embracing him forcefully. He realised by now she wasn't standing at all; they were both lying naked on his bed. He kissed her intensely while kneeling between her legs. Suddenly he knew what to do. His lips moved away from her inviting mouth, tasting of the hot, moist summer days he remembered fondly; they trailed along her neck and collarbone, kissing every inch of skin. And then he entered her. She gasped loudly, making him feel even more aroused and after a few heartbeats she began to move with the rhythm he had started. She murmured his name ..._

He woke with a start. The feverish dream hung on for a moment and then slowly began to dissolve. He didn't even know if he wanted to cling on to it. He felt confused and alarmed; it had been highly disturbing to say the least of it. Then he heard the front door creak open. _Damn it, this would be the perfect time for Danarius to come for me_ he thought in paranoid panic. But immediately after that he recognised Hawke's footsteps and calmed down. The last images of his dream disappeared.

She entered the room and saw him sagged in the chair, looking worn out and at the end of his tether. She put the bag and large bundle of cloth she carried with her on the table and moved towards him.

'You don't look all too well,' she greeted him.

'I look exactly as I feel,' he grunted gravely, watching her through bleary eyes. She smiled.

'I was afraid about that,' she said and lay a cool hand on his hot forehead before he got time to wince or move away. He closed his eyes at the contact. To his amazement it didn't hurt, it felt good. But then again, there was no lyrium infused into his forehead. He couldn't recall whether her touch had hurt him the night before but there had been so much pain already that he wouldn't have been able to feel the difference. And he remembered that the contact with her hand, days earlier, hadn't hurt him. On the contrary. _No, don't go there. Not again. Not now. _His eyes shot open when she spoke again.

'Do you think you can down this?' she asked, holding out a potion. He tried to grab the little bottle but due to his former exertions his fingers trembled too much to get a proper grip. Without any comment she held the bottle against his lips and supported the back of his head.

'I know it tastes awful,' she said in an excusing tone, 'I've added honey and mint but the tang of elfroot is very forceful, sorry.' He didn't answer, just concentrated on swallowing which was difficult enough. He wondered now how he had ever managed to get to the kitchen and back, he felt weak as a new born child. Finally he had drank all of the liquid and she removed the phial, putting it back on the table. After that she turned her attention to the hearth where just a few embers were still glowing. Within a couple of minutes she had a fire roaring, and not by using magic he observed drowsily. Warmth rapidly started to spread through the room. It felt wonderful.

'I'll be back in a moment,' Hawke's voice sounded again, 'just getting some water.' She smiled at him before she disappeared through the door. He stared after her. She had a very sweet smile, he mused, had he ever noticed that before? He must have. She again left a trace of rosemary and he tried to inhale the scent as long as possible. The healing potion started to work and now he felt like he was inebriated instead of being smashed to bits. Quite an improvement. She had held his head. Had it hurt? He couldn't say and after some tiresome moments he gave up.

Hawke returned with a filled bucket in each hand. She put the buckets down aside of his chair and looked at him, biting her lip.

'I see you have changed your shirt,' she said carefully, 'very wise.'

'I'm not sure wisdom had anything to do with it,' he replied, to his relief his voice sounded normal again, 'to be honest I can't remember doing it.'

'Would you mind very much taking it off?' Hawke asked. And yes, that panicky look returned as she had already feared. 'It will be very hard to redress your injuries if you don't,' she continued as reassuringly as she could, 'it's just the two of us this time. Do you trust me?'

No, he didn't trust her. Yes, he did. He didn't know. Did he have a choice anyway? His wound throbbed and he knew damn well something had to be done about it. He gave in and started to fumble with the hem of his tunic, very soon realising he could not do this, not with just one still shaking hand. Without uttering a word she assisted him, slowly and tenderly. He braced himself against her reaction. There would be gasping, there would be prying eyes, there would be disgusted looks – there was just silence and, when he dared to take a peek at her, a reassuring smile. He let out the breath he had been holding in without even being conscious about it. He couldn't help himself.

'No comment? I must look very – strange to you. Repulsive,' he stammered.

'No Fenris. At the very most exotic. But as a matter of fact you look beautiful,' Hawke responded calmly, leaving him utterly puzzled and gobsmacked. He had always hated his markings, thinking they marred and blemished him and she thought him to be _beautiful_? She must be out of her mind. But he had no time to contemplate this riddle any longer for she started to remove his bandages. He gritted his teeth, anticipating her unavailable touch and the harsh stings that would inflict. _Her_ contact with _his_. Not his choice. Not her warm hand ... _damn_.

But her nimble and gentle fingers didn't hurt him, not even as they brushed over the lyrium brands. It felt like a soothing and calming balm, warm and cooling at the same time. He flinched in surprise and she immediately removed her hands from his skin.

'Did I hurt you?' she asked with great concern.

'No,' he breathed. How could he ever explain this to her? How could he even start to make clear that as long as he remembered being touched was the same as being punished? How that he with the best of his will couldn't understand why she brought him comfort instead of ache? After a short hesitation she restarted her ministrations and he closed his eyes, revelling in the wonderful sensation her soft hands caused him. He wished she'd never stop. He wanted to cry.

Finally she was finished.

'Hm, this doesn't look too bad,' she said, bringing him back to reality, 'it's not infected anyway although I don't know what you've been doing to start to bleed again.'

'Just an expedition into the kitchen,' he retorted, making her laugh.

'I'll have to wash it out, it may hurt I'm afraid.' The concern in her voice made a reappearance.

'No,' he said dreamily, 'your hands don't hurt.'

Her heart skipped a beat. Had she heard that right? Had he meant it? He must have, considering the near heavenly look upon his face. Maker, she hadn't caused him pain, on the contrary in fact. It almost brought her to tears but she restrained herself. _You're not some ignorant waif. Concentrate on what you are doing._ _You are trying to heal him, that's important right now_. She reached for her bag and took out a clean rag. She soaked it with the lukewarm water from one of the buckets, wrung it out and started to bathe his injuries as tenderly as she could. She had to rinse the fabric and repeat all of her actions a few times before she was satisfied. The water had turned to red by then. Then she took another piece of cloth and reached for the second bucket still holding fresh water and began to wash him. She started with his face, moved down to his neck, arms and then his back and torso.

'What are you doing?' Fenris asked flustered.

'Cleaning you, what else? You are covered in sweat and dirt, we can't have that. Wounds need a hygienic environment to heal.'

'You seem to know a lot about healing,' he said, desperately trying to hide his confusion, especially now it was his legs' turn. Only at this moment he realized that he was sitting in just his smallclothes in the presence of a lovely woman. Fragments of his feverish dream returned and he bit his lip hard to control himself. She pretended to take no notice.

'Like I said before, I lack the talent of a healing mage. So I decided to qualify myself in the conventional art. It turned out I had quite a knack for it. I make my own potions and salves. Back in Ferelden I grew the ingredients in the garden. I have to buy them in the market now of course but it still pays out. Besides that I believe they're better than the ready-mades. Let's say it's useful to know how to heal, don't you?' Fenris hummed his agreement.

'I'm done,' Hawke declared after finishing washing his feet. She dropped the rag back into the bucket and arose. She treated his wounds with one of her apparently home-made unguents and packed him again in linen bandages.

'Do you make those yourself also?' he teased her. This time she laughed out loud which he enjoyed very much. I made him think of a welcome rain shower after a hot day.

'No, I have neither the skill nor the time for that! But I have a very good address.' Still grinning she went back to the table and untied the bundle of cloth. She produced a clean shirt and handed it over to him.

'It belongs to my brother,' she declared, 'but I doubt he will miss it. As you know he's a tall lad so it will be a bit too large for you but it'll do. You need help with putting it on?'

'I think I'll manage,' he said and this time it wasn't said out of pride or naked fear. Her treatment had made him feel a lot better, he had to admit. While he was struggling with the shirt, she ripped the sheets and blankets of his bed.

'You don't like them?'

Hawke chortled.

'They are soaked, Fenris. Soaked, stained, dusty. To say it bluntly, they are outright filthy. Remember what I said about hygiene.' She looked around and sighed. 'This whole room is a grubby nest. This whole _mansion_ is. It's your choice to keep it in this state of course but I insist in giving you a clean bed to recover in.' The bundle on the table revealed knew items like clean sheets and pillowcases and a brand new fresh smelling blanket. And new pillows at that.

'You sound like a nursemaid,' Fenris complained but he didn't mean it. He was just mesmerised and didn't know how to express his gratitude. It didn't help he wasn't used to this kind of behaviour at all and didn't know how to react to it. It helped even less he still felt odd and light-headed.

'Not your nursemaid, your physician,' she said severely but smiled at the same time. She helped him getting into his bed. He felt annoyed he still needed her assistance but when he leaned back into the new and very clean pillows he realized how tired he was. The pain and fever might have subsided but still his injury and more important the aftermath of the severe loss of blood made him more brittle than he had presumed. He let out a big sigh.

'Feeling better?' she asked. He just nodded. 'Try to get some sleep. I'm going to see Aveline but I'll return afterwards.' He had already drifted off before she had left the room.

* * *

Marian entered Aveline's office with a heavy heart. A Hightown mansion filled with blood and corpses hadn't escaped the attention of the City Guard and of course the red haired captain had made the link between a lot of dead people and Hawke. She had sent one of her guards to Gamlen's house first thing in the morning to summon Hawke to the Keep. Marian luckily had caught the woman before her family had got air of it. She'd never heard the end of it otherwise. She had ignored that call in so much that she first had paid a short visit to the Lowtown bathhouse to lose the last traces of gore and filth and then had gone to Fenris because she'd deemed that more important. She hoped Aveline would show some understanding once she had explained.

'I sent for you hours ago,' the guard captain spat out very angrily, 'why the hell do you turn up only now?!'

'Because Fenris got injured gravely last night and I had to check on him,' Hawke clarified while sitting down in the chair opposite to Aveline's desk.

'Have I given you permission to sit?' the captain snapped.

'Stop that, Aveline, I'm not one of your guardsmen,' Hawke shot back with sudden flaming eyes.

Aveline thumped the desk. 'Early this morning I received a rapport about a massacre in the DuPuis mansion. One of the _noble_ neighbours had heard a lot of noise and shouting somewhere during the night and decided to take a look at daybreak. You can imagine his reaction when he came across the butchery.' She paused for a moment, taking in Hawke's perfectly blank face. 'After he was done vomiting he came running to the Keep. He didn't even bother with me, he went straight to the Viscount, screaming like a stock pig, yelling about the disgrace to the neighbourhood and the incompetence of the guard. You can imagine the Viscount's reaction. And of course he didn't address me personally, the coward, but sent Seneschal Bran.' It was all Hawke could do not to wince in sympathy. 'I know we already rooted out the gang terrorizing Hightown so I came to the one conclusion possible. Damn it, Hawke. What did you think you were doing?!'

Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose.

'Are you done ranting yet? Look, I'm sorry about the whole situation, especially about the Seneschal Bran gloating business, but just shut up for a few moments to let me explain.'

'I'm dying to hear your version of the story,' Aveline said sarcastically.

'We thought we were going to kill one Gascard DuPuis, who is apparently known as a dangerous necromancer, of which I'm as good as sure, and also as a slaver although that I'm not so certain about. But it turned out we were lured into a trap.' At this point she showed Aveline the pendant Isabela had found and the guard captain stared at it with immediate concern.

'Another Seeker?' she said after a while, 'or _the_ other Seeker?'

'I don't think so,' Hawke replied. And then she told Aveline about her entertaining talk with Meeran and everything else that had transpired last night. The guard captain let out a deep breath.

'So summarizing, we have two dead women wearing a pendant of the Seekers, a mystery man who so called hired you to take care of a necromancer and perhaps slaver but instead led you into a room full of would-be killers, and one undoubtedly by now scared to death mercenary. And how am I supposed to explain all this to the Viscount?' she groaned.

'Don't,' Hawke suggested, 'you already had Bran triumphing over you, what's the worst that can happen now?' Aveline produced a very thin smile. 'Very little, I'll give you that. How is Fenris doing by the way?'

'He is sleeping right now but he'll recover. I'll return to him shortly,' Hawke retorted, staring into the distance. 'You know, the longer I'm thinking about it, the more I tend to believe those two women weren't Seekers at all,' she said musingly, absentmindedly chewing on a finger, 'that man that turned to Meeran to hire me though ...'

'You think he is some kind of mastermind, that he concocted the failed assault on your house and the unsuccessful trap in that Hightown mansion?'

Hawke rested her elbow on the desk and her head in her hand. 'I wouldn't be surprised. I think he at least holds a lot of answers. He could be the Seeker we're looking for. And what I would very much like to know is why he is after me. And how to find him to confront him with all that.'

Aveline contemplated this for some moments. 'Does Meeran know you're a mage?'

Hawke shook her head. 'No he doesn't. But even if he did, he wouldn't care. He would hire an ogre if he thought it would be useful.' She grinned ruefully. 'He would of course immediately turn over the ogre to anyone who offered money or threatened him. But again, as far as I'm aware, he doesn't know I'm a mage. Unless Carver has told him about it.'

'Do you think he would do such a thing?' Aveline sounded very worried at this question.

'No,' Hawke said resolutely, 'he may be an asshole most of the time but he would not give me away. He knows the value of family.'

Aveline snorted contritely. 'So we haven't made progress one bit.'

'No, I'm afraid not,' Hawke sighed. 'We'll have to keep our eyes open, watch for stabs in the back and hope to find a clue that will bring us further. Next time I receive a letter I will think twice. Or at least be more careful and look behind the message. Again my condolences about the Seneschal' She rose from the chair. 'If you don't mind, I'll go back to Fenris now, to see how he is doing.'

Aveline nodded, suppressing a smile that fought a way to her lips despite herself. 'You do that. I'll inform you at the moment I'll find out something useful.'

Hawke smiled apologetically at the guard captain. 'I'm sorry I have dragged you into this. I could kick Bran into the nuts if that makes you feel better. I scared the living daylight out of Meeran last night; I could do the same to him.'

Now Aveline couldn't help to laugh out loud.

'I would pay to see that, but appealing is it sounds, I don't think that will be a good idea. Just go check on the elf, Hawke.'

Marian had a lot to think about when she left the Keep and descended the stairs.

**Thank you for reading! By the way, more reviews are always appreciated, if only to know I'm on the right track with all this.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you much for your encouraging reviews!**

**A lot happens in this chapter ... I hope you'll enjoy it ...**

* * *

Chapter 8

This time when he woke up, Fenris felt a lot better. The fever had disappeared and the pain in his shoulders had reduced to just a somewhat itching feeling. That was good. Less pleasant was that now there was more opportunity for contemplation and he knew from experience that contemplating led to difficult questions with at the best complicated answers and almost inevitable dark thoughts. He got out of bed and went over to the hearth. He prodded into the fire with the poker, thinking about what had happened, staring absentmindedly into the crackling flames. He realised he had been extremely vulnerable this morning and even worse, vulnerable in the presence of a mage. But this mage had not taken any advantage of his fragile condition, he had to give her that. As far as he had been able to perceive, she hadn't used magic at all, not even to relight the fire let alone to control him. He ran a hand through his hair. He saw now he was still wearing not much more than his underclothes and he started looking for his tights. He found them under the table, Maker knew how they had ended up there, and put them on. All the while his thoughts kept running in his head.

Or had she, without him being aware of ... He shook his head. Yes, she had touched him and no, it had not inflicted any pain but he was certain he would have noticed if magic had been involved. He smiled grimly. It certainly would have been the first time magic hadn't caused him any harm. So at this point he was willing to conclude that magic was not the issue – for the time being. He moved to the window and gazed outside without seeing much. Next problem. He absolutely could not understand why she put so much effort in trying to heal him. Was that her normal behaviour? Would she go through so much trouble for everyone who suffered an injury? And why the hell should he be bothered by that anyway? He let out a frustrated grunt and then he saw her climbing the last steps of the stairs leading to the Chantry courtyard, walking in her determined and o so elegant way. She was carrying something but from this distance he couldn't make out what. For a brief moment his breath hitched and his heart picked up a pace. Automatically he moved back from the window. _Venhedis! _If he weren't careful, he would start to act like some lovesick puppy. He huffed angrily. Benefit of the doubt indeed. And up till now he also succeeded tremendously in keeping his distance. He should have sent her away, injury or no. He should still sent her away the very minute she would walk through that door, tell her ...

And then she stood in his room and he just watched her without being able to utter a word.

'You definitely look a whole lot better than the first time I came here this day,' she said with a radiant smile. 'I brought you something to eat.'

Fenris cleared his throat. 'You seem to make a habit out of feeding me.' _Lovesick puppy, waiting for scraps ..._

'Well, you were hardly able to go to the market yourself and I passed there on my way from the Keep so I decided to buy some food. Aren't you hungry? I know I am.' Her smile faltered a little, feeling his aloof attitude no doubt. She put the bread and cheese she carried with her on the table. 'I could make some coffee or tea if you like.'

He cleared his throat once again. 'Why are you doing this, Hawke?' She looked at him incomprehensively.

'Doing what?'

Fenris made a broad gesture with his arm that included his very clean bed, the food on the table and even the hearth where she had unmagically lit a fire this morning. 'Caring for me the way you do.'

'Is that a problem? Would you rather I had let you bleed to death?' _for three short counts you did, you damn elf _ 'or had let you suffer from pain and cold in that chair I found you in?'

He noticed some degree of irritation had crept into her voice. 'I, er, I don't know,' he murmured. He caught the confused, almost hurt look in her sapphire eyes. 'No, of course not,' he hastened to say, 'it just ... it baffles me.'

'Considering the way you have been treated all your life, it doesn't baffle _me_ at all,' she reacted and now there was definitely a sting in her tone, 'but if it makes you feel better, you got wounded while fighting for my benefit so I owe you one.' She paused, biting her lip and then blurted out words that hit him like a sledgehammer. 'To be honest, when you insisted you didn't wanted to be touched back in that mansion, I got the impression you preferred death over any contact with a human being.' She saw his eyes widen.

She clenched her fists and drove her nails into her palms. _Why did you say that? Stupid stupid stupid ... _'I'm not expecting gratitude if that's what you're thinking, or anything else. I don't know what you had to endure from that, that ... and yes I'm a mage but I ...' This stuttered poor excuse for an explanation wasn't making things better, she realised when she saw his markings light up.

'Don't go there, Hawke,' he warned her, his voice low and threatening. 'I won't take responsibility for what happens if you push this. So, again. Don't. Go. There.'

Her first impulse was to burst out in anger, actually she wanted to fly at him but at the last moment she inhaled sharply and raised both her hands as if to ward him off, although in fact she was trying to regain her calmness. What had she expected? That he would throw his arms around her neck? Fall on his knees out of sheer gratefulness? Frankly, that would have disconcerted her more than this attitude. She should have known that a recovered Fenris would behave like the old one and not like the feverish elf who had let her touch him with no rejection to speak of. And she had; she just hadn't thought he would recover this fast. And now she went and spoiled everything she had accomplished this morning. Damn, it wasn't easy to cope with him, to say the least about it.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that,' she sighed. She looked at him with sad eyes and didn't even smile to try to repair the damage. 'I think it's best that I go now.'

All kinds of feelings were stirring inside him. It started with rage because of her words that changed into confusion after he realized she was genuinely distressed; soon after that he felt remorse over his harsh reaction and finally guilt reared its head. He tried to reject it, to hold on to the anger but he failed. His markings stopped glowing. Yes, he had succeeded in regaining his distance, well done. And by doing so he had hurt her. Even more brilliant. Just what she deserved, punish her for the kindness she showed you. _Just go_ _chase away the only person you don't entirely trust among all the others you don't trust at all, you complete jackass. Do something! _

And so, without thinking further, he moved to her, took her hand, held it firmly for a heartbeat and dropped it again.

'There. Touch. Happy now?'

He had to admit it almost felt liberating. He took in her mesmerized gaze and smiled crookedly.

'Everything about Danarius and my past is – painful,' he said, 'I tend to react strongly to it I'm afraid.'

'So I noticed,' she mumbled, still taken aback. He withstood the urge to take her hand once more. _Don't overdo it._

'I have a proposition for you,' he resumed, 'you try not to bring it up and I will try not to get angry when you accidently do.'

She nodded. 'I can live with that, for now. Just one more thing before we end this subject.' Fenris raised one brow which sent a shiver down her spine. 'Do you really have to ignite your markings every time you get upset? It's fairly intimidating.'

He chuckled lowly which made her shiver some more. 'I'm afraid there is not much I can do about it. So I should get used to it if I were you because I don't think this is the last argument we'll be having.'

Definitely not.

* * *

Two days later Hawke got hauled out of her sleep early in the morning for the second time by a loud banging on the front door.

'O bloody hell, what's a girl to do to get a decent night of sleep around here,' she grunted while she dragged herself out of bed and to the door, in the meantime snarling at Alrond who was happily adding to the racket to shut up. Not surprisingly her mother and uncle pretended not to hear anything and her brother wasn't even at home. She came across the same guardswoman as the last time.

'I'm very sorry to wake you up again, Serah Hawke, but the captain says it's important.'

Hawke rubbed her face. 'Of course,' she yawned, 'if the captain says it's important then it can't wait another minute.' The sarcasm didn't get through to the guardswoman. 'Just give me a moment to get dressed.'

Aveline was already waiting for her in the hall of the Keep. 'I think you want to see this, Hawke,' she said and started to walk in the direction of the dungeons.

'I truly hope so,' Hawke grumbled, not being in the best of moods and descending to the cold, gloomy and somewhat sinister dungeons didn't add to her temper. 'You know, I was actually having a dream about getting an undisturbed night and I – holy shit.'

Aveline had unlocked a heavy door and pushed the complaining Hawke over the threshold. She was staring at a well-known body. 'I'm almost inclined to say "the poor sod",' she muttered taken by surprise, a quite nasty surprise at that, 'where did you find him?'

'One of my guardsmen stumbled upon him at the entrance of the Blooming Rose not an hour ago.'

'Really?'

'He was on patrol,' Aveline snapped viciously. 'I assume it's not your work?'

Hawke looked up. 'Do you have to ask that? I take it you know this is not my style,' she said indignantly, 'I may have disliked the son of a bitch but that doesn't mean I'd murder him ... by slitting his throat no less. You've searched the body?'

'Of course we did.'

'Any chance of pendants lying about? I'm thinking of starting to collect them.'

'Will you cut the crap and start to take this seriously?' the guard captain barked impatiently, 'this is a grave matter and I doubt not for a second your Seekers are involved.'

'_My_ Seekers? My, I'm moving up in the world. Alright, alright,' Hawke said hastily when Aveline began to look as if she would explode, 'just give me the chance to recuperate. A cup of coffee would certainly help.'

Not much later they sat at the desk in Aveline's office, both with a steaming mug in their hands.

'I'm afraid Meeran signed his death warrant the moment he accepted that letter,' Aveline said.

'I think he would have been dead days earlier if he had declined it,' Hawke replied, 'didn't you find anything useful upon him at all?'

Aveline shook her head. 'The only clue we have is that he is killed with a serrated blade, considering how ragged the wound looked. It's not a weapon that is popular among mercenaries. You implied the mysterious man who visited Meeran could be a Seeker, or the Seeker. I think he wants to cover up his tracks. Thoroughly and mercilessly.' She was silent for a few moments and then said, 'Hawke, I think you have to move out of your house. All of you. You're not safe there any longer.'

Hawke almost dropped her mug. 'Have you gone mad? And where do you suggest we should go?!'

'I don't know. The Hanged Man perhaps?'

'O yes,' Hawke scoffed, 'my mother will be so pleased when I tell her she's going to live in the tavern she despises! I can already see her face and hear her scream. I might as well announce that the sewers aren't half as bad as they seem and would make for a lovely home.'

Aveline imagined Leandra's reaction and almost took pity on Hawke. Instead she pressed on. 'Hawke, listen. They've tried to burst into your home once before, they tried to kill you in a trap and now they have murdered Meeran. I fear the next they will do is go after your family.'

'You forget about Alrond, he will defend them when I'm not around,' Hawke said stubbornly.

'Yes, and they know about him now. They will take measures against him, I'm sure.'

'So you suggest we go to a place with lots of people to betray us and even more to be potential victims.'

Aveline groaned frustrated. 'And lots of people to blend in and raise the alarm if need arises. If you want to hide, do it in a crowd; you will be least noticed and most safe.'

Hawke put the mug on the desk and started to follow the grain of the wood with a finger. She didn't want to agree with the guard captain although in her heart she knew she was right. She decided it could wait.

'Have you discovered anything about that Gascard DuPuis yet?'

Aveline observed her friend for a moment, contemplating if she should cuff her to let reality hit home. But she didn't, merely because she knew it would have the opposite effect. 'As a matter of fact we did. He is indeed from Orlais as Meeran already claimed. But, as far as we were able to find out, he hasn't been in Kirkwall for over a year.'

'For over a year?' Hawke leaned back and folded her arms. 'So that "I have personal motivations to see him killed" was total bullshit.'

'Does that surprise you?'

Hawke scratched the back of her head. 'Not any longer, no. Our mysterious Seeker probably doesn't even know the man and just used his name because the mansion was conveniently empty to set up a trap. Ugh. What a mess.'

'You can say that again.'

'Perhaps I can use my connections with the Red Iron to make some inquiries,' Hawke said thoughtfully.

'I was hoping you would.'

'But I can't promise I'll get results.'

'Of course not but every little bit may help. And Hawke, I'm serious about you moving out of that house.' Marian shot her a tired look.

'I'll think about it, alright?'

'Don't think too long, Hawke, or it might be too late.'

* * *

Hawke entered Varric's suite in the Hanged Man to find the dwarf ferociously scribbling on a piece of vellum only to scratch out the written words moments later. A blob of ink fell from his quill, smudging the parchment. Isabela lounged in a chair on the other side of the table, her booted feet resting on the surface as usual. She was looking bored. Varric cursed under his breath.

'What's wrong? Things not going well with the epic love story?' Hawke informed sweetly. Varric looked up and grumbled, 'This is supposed to turn into a letter to the dwarven Merchants Guild but since I dislike writing letters and hate the Guild I simply can't put my thoughts into it. Have a seat Hawke. And a drink.' He nodded in the direction of the large pitcher on the table, surrounded by several mugs. He dipped his quill into the inkwell, hesitated and decided to leave it there. He crumpled the piece of vellum into a ball and threw it into the fire. 'Let's try again tomorrow,' he said, 'or better, let's try never again.'

'How is our handsome, brooding, wicked grace specialist doing?' Isabela drawled and Hawke wondered how much she already had drunk to drown her boredom. At the very moment the door opened and Fenris came in, closely followed by Anders.

'It seems you can ask him yourself,' Hawke said and gave the elf a smile. He reciprocated and she felt warmth spread through her stomach.

'Not so brooding tonight I see.' Isabela had shot to attention at the entering of the two males.

'Ask me what?' Fenris turned to Isabela.

'Well, you know, you didn't come out of that trap so wonderful and I wondered if Hawke's special treatment had done you well,' Isabela said with a not to misunderstand emphasis on "special".

'I'm walking again, am I not,' Fenris commented dryly.

'You were injured?' Anders asked surprised, apparently no one had told him.

'I was. I'm not any longer,' the elf replied curtly.

'Why didn't you come to me?' Anders sounded offended, obviously his professional pride was hurt.

'And then what? Let me touch you with your filthy magic?' Fenris on his turn sounded outright disgusted.

'Hawke is not a real healer,' Anders objected.

'No? She healed me perfectly well in the conventional way,' the elf bit back.

'Gentlemen, please let's not spoil a perfect evening,' Varric intervened before the squabble turned into a fight. He poured Fenris a glass of wine and Anders a glass of water.

'As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask for your advice,' Hawke chimed in, 'Aveline think it's too dangerous for me and my family to stay at Gamlen's – er – house but I have no clue where to go. Aveline suggested the Hanged Man but I'm positive even ten angry dragons can't chase my mother in here. Oh and by the way, Meeran is dead. Possibly murdered by Seekers.'

Silence fell, they all stared at her. Then Varric heaved his mug and said solemnly, 'Let's drink to the bugger. He was a nug-humping motherless son of a bloody bastard but a decent one.'

'Have I missed something?' Merrill's high voice interjected, 'I'm so sorry I'm late but I was trying to stop up a rat's hole when I spotted –'

'It's alright Kitten,' Isabela prevented a long undoubtedly jumbled story, 'come sit next to me, I'll update you.'

'Let us focus on Hawke's dilemma,' Varric continued after emptying half his mug on Meeran's behalf, 'if her mother is so adamant about not living in here, even for a while, why don't you let them all move into your gigantic mansion, elf? You have plenty of room.'

Fenris choked on his wine and started to cough ostentatiously.

'Yes, elf, we get the message,' the dwarf sighed, 'no need to overreact.'

'Can't Aveline find some space in the Keep? You can hide an army of ogres in there,' Isabela suggested.

Hawke grinned wickedly. 'Good idea. We can lock them up in the dungeons, problem solved.'

Carver chose that moment to enter Varric's suite. 'Who is going to be locked up?' he asked eagerly.

'You, if you don't watch that mouth of yours,' Marian growled.

'Ha ha, very funny. I see you're in one of your good moods this evening. How unusual.' Carver slumped down in an empty chair and immediately reached for the pitcher with ale.

'You would understand if you knew about all that has happened of late,' Hawke said with rising irritation, 'and have at least the decency to ask if you can have a drink before grabbing it.'

'How am I supposed to know what happened if you refuse to take me along on your precious missions or even tell me anything!' Carver deliberately poured a generous amount of ale in a tankard.

'And how am I supposed to do that if you are never at home, you jerk!' Hawke shouted. 'Or do you expect me to turn the whole of Kirkwall upside down to find you or post a message on the Chantry board: "Please Carver come home, your sister needs you"! Where the hell have you been anyway?'

'That's none of your concern,' Carver sneered. Marian threw her arms in the air.

'Fine! Keep roaming the streets with those shady gangs of yours! But don't come complaining to me every time you miss something important!'

'Let me explain,' Varric said, intervening for a second time, 'before you tear each other's throats out.' Sister and brother backed down although still tense.

The end of the story was that both Marian and Carver would try to convince Leandra that the evil, immoral and above all heinous Hanged Man was the only option if she didn't want to get killed in her own bed.

'And with that I'm going home,' Hawke stated, 'I've had enough for one day.'

'Let me escort you,' Fenris said and she gratefully accepted his offer.

* * *

'Seeing you being involved in a row with your brother is highly amusing,' Fenris mentioned while they were taking the narrow street leading to her uncle's hovel.

'I'm glad at least _you_ like it,' Hawke retorted.

'You know you are a walking contradiction, Hawke. One moment the classic example of patience and understanding, the next a fuming virago.'

'Thank you for the charming compliment,' she mumbled, not exactly sure how to take it, 'and may I say you too are the most delightful personality I ever had the pleasure to meet.'

'I hear the dwarfs lessons haven't been wasted on you. But yes, you're right, frighteningly so about a lot of things. I realize I'm not an easy person to deal with.'

'Since when did you develop such a wonderful self-knowledge?' she teased him.

But before he could answer, the attack came.

Within no time they were surrounded by a large group of thugs, their blades and maces glinting in the dim light. Hawke and Fenris had automatically turned and stood now back to back, daggers and longsword in hand. They got addressed by one of the assailants.

'And what have we here? Nice outfit, nice weapons, I bet nice coin purses too. I suggest you hand it all over.'

'You can rip it from my dead corpse,' Hawke snarled.

'And that, my lady, is exactly what we are going to do.'

Hawke recognized this was a dangerous situation. The Hanged Man was too far away to expect any assistance, Fenris had only just recovered and there were a lot of enemies. Too many in fact to come out of the inevitable fight unscathed or even alive. Fenris would hate her for it but she couldn't think of anything else to do to save their hides. The moment the muggers launched their assault and Fenris let out a fierce battle cry, she dropped her daggers, tapped into the Fade and gathered all the energy she was able to. Then she unleashed a spell of kinetic energy. It was so powerful that the attackers got scattered around and smashed into the surrounding walls. She heard the screams of terror and the breaking of bones while she staggered and fell on her knees. Her head spun and with a blurred gaze she saw Fenris slaughter most of the gang members. He moved so fast he seemed to be nothing but a blue haze, nevertheless a few thugs managed to escape, one of them hysterically and incoherently yelling something about magic or witchcraft. Or with any luck about an earthquake.

Fenris turned to her.

'Idiot!' he hissed, 'how could you use magic while the Seekers are hunting you!'

She wasn't able to answer him. White lights were fountaining behind her eyes, her head ached like mad and she was struggling for breath. She had used just one spell but with much more force than back against the arcane horror; she felt completely drained and desperately tried to pull herself together.

'Are you hurt?' A hint of worry wove through the anger. She shook her head and almost fell over. She didn't know how long she had sat there before the side-effects of wielding magic finally dwindled and she deemed it save to get up. She leaned against a wall. Fenris was eyeing her, his arms folded, his lips pressed together. He hadn't lifted a finger to help her but on the other hand hadn't run off to leave her alone neither.

'Feeling alright again?' he asked gruffly.

'I think so,' she mumbled.

'Good. Let's get you home then.' But before they had a chance to move, he became rigid.

* * *

His sensitive elven ears picked up a dreadful sound. For a moment he stood motionless, not knowing what to do. Then, even before she could ask him why he was acting so strange, he grabbed her arm and dragged her into a nearby ally. She wanted to protest but he smothered her words by pinning her to the wall en pushing himself into her, embracing her hard. She gasped, too flabbergasted to raise objections.

'Put your arms around me,' he hissed. His hot breath swirled on the skin of her ear and neck and made her quiver. And then she heard it too. The dreaded jingle of heavily armoured Templars, at least six of them. It was easy to recognize them, their armour being much weightier than the kind the City Guard wore. Her eyes grew wide with fear and she wanted to break away in an attempt to flee. But he prevented her doing so by pressing himself even harder to her body. _Templars, are they Templar anyway, or are they Seekers. I have to get out of here. Now! _Panic kicked in seriously.

'Don't,' he breathed. She understood despite her utmost panic, what he was trying to do. And so she responded. She put one arm around his leather clad waist and laid her other hand at the back of his head, her heavily trembling fingers playing through his ruffled moonlike hair, soft and smooth and sleek as she had dreamed it would be. She got overwhelmed by several conflicting emotions. The fear of getting caught by the Templars and being dragged down to the Gallows to be interrogated by a Seeker was at first the strongest feeling. But that horror soon got overruled by his hips pressing into hers en the warm skin of his face touching her cheek. She always had wanted to know how it would feel to draw her fingers through that tousled hair and it was even more arousing than she had imagined. She let her fingers trace to the exposed skin of his neck and was exhilarated by the bare, soft warmth she found. He stiffened and she heard him taking in a sharp breath but she didn't let go. Instead she let her fingers trail to his ears and softly caressed them. He uttered some words in Arcanum, no doubt curses. He tried to yank his body away from her while at the same time even pushing harder. Hawke almost chuckled at this conflicting movement. She was aware of the fact she was taking advantage of the situation but at this very moment she didn't care one bit. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he felt it through his armour. Her breath became ragged as if they were making love; she almost moaned and imagined he was doing the same. But he was just holding her close, very close.

The marching sound of heavy armour caught up with the ally where they were standing, bodies pressed into each other fiercely, passed it and slowly faded away. She heard a few muffled laughs through her pounding ears, laughs at the couple that apparently had no other place to go than the wall where they were embracing each other.

Fenris let out a long held breath and pushed away from her. For a few stretched moments she could swear that his lips lingered above hers and then he jerked back, standing before her as the embodiment of doom, nearly towering over her although he was not much longer than she was. She could almost taste his anger and didn't dare to look at him. She had teased him beyond the limits. She _knew_ that for the briefest of moments she had felt his lips brushing her cheek. She _knew_ she had felt his arousal against her thigh. It still made her knees weak.

'I think it is best that you spend the night in my mansion,' he said gruffly. 'You'll be safest there.' His voice sounded hoarse and thick. She couldn't help thinking that for someone who hated mages and didn't want to be touched, he had gone an awful way to save her skin.

_She wanted to feel his body once more. She desperately wanted his lips upon hers._

And then fear kicked in again.

'I have to check on my family,' she said, her voice more shrill then she intended. He hesitated for a moment, as if contemplating the idea but more likely to collect his senses.

'You're right,' he admitted, 'they might be in danger.'

'I will never forgive myself if something happens to them,' she squeaked. Without uttering another word he took her wrist in a steel grip and dragged her more or less to the hovel she shared with her closed-ones. Everything was quiet there. Wherever the patrol had been headed, it was, Maker be blessed, not there.

'Satisfied?' he snarled and started to pull her to the steps that led to Hightown.

'If everything is safe,' she started but was cut off by his angry voice.

'For now. They can return. If they were after someone it could be you. But not your family. It's better when you're not there. For your own sake.' He bit of his sentences and she thought it better not to waylay him. Not if he was in this mood. She had pushed him far enough.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm terribly sorry for the delay but Spring turned out to exist after all and I'm not ashamed to confess I made full advantage of that phenomenon.**

**The story continues ... with some twists.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 9

Reluctantly she trailed after him, through the entrance hall still in disarray and littered with debris, up the rightwing of the monumental double stairway, expecting some kind of outburst or angry rant in the end. When they had reached the only room he used in his gigantic mansion, Fenris first took off the leather gloves he wore when he visited Lowtown and carefully placed his longsword next to his broadsword in the weapon rack he had found somewhere in the dilapidated place. After that he turned his attention to the fire. The room was chilly and dim; the logs in the hearth had reduced to embers. He took some wood from the stack next to the fireplace and put it on the softly crackling cinders. It didn't take long before the fire was roaring again. Only then he stood up to face her. All that time she had been standing not four paces over the threshold, ready to flee if the situation would get out of hand, looking at anything but him. Now, however, she felt his gaze upon her and she couldn't deny his existence any longer. The light of the flames lit the room and played over his handsome elven face. As she already had anticipated, he was glowering at her. Fiercely. She moaned inwardly. Why in the name of Andraste's burning butt cheeks had she ever agreed to come with him? She hadn't, had she, he had just made her and she had been too overwhelmed by what had happened to reject. And now here she was, bracing herself against his inevitable anger.

'Do you have a death wish?' he growled. Ah, it was indeed going to be this way. Well, if he wanted to throw harsh words at her, he'd better be ready to expect a few stones back. She steeled herself, pulled her shoulders back and shot him a defiant look.

'Not that I'm aware of, but perhaps you do,' she spat back at him.

'What the hell are you talking about?' he snapped.

'I hate to use magic and I avoid it as best as I can but If I hadn't used it back there, you would have been nothing more than a smear on the wall or a bloody pulp in the gutter by now,' she snapped in return.

'I highly doubt that. You could have managed with your daggers.'

'There were far too many of them and there were just the two of us, so no. Besides that, I don't know why you bother. It seems to me you're the kind of person who would like to see all mages being dragged to the Gallows. which includes me. Why make such a fuss!' After what he had done to save her from the Templars, this was not fair. She knew of course, but was too agitated to take it back. The nerves about what had happened still held her in their grip.

He glared fireballs at her.

'I still owe you a dept. How am I supposed to pay you back when you are in the Circle or dead?' he sneered. A _dept_? That was a lame excuse if she ever heard one.

'Well, I didn't realize that your _dept_ to me weighted that heavy on your shoulders,' she scoffed, 'but you can always make a donation to the poor on my behalf if that makes you feel better.' On these words she turned and swept out of the room. Everywhere was better than being here with him at this moment. She'd rather sneak into the Chantry, spending the night in one of the storerooms so conveniently close to the entrance. It wouldn't be the first time. His voice caught her before she had reached the door.

'Hawke, wait,' he called after her. Despite her aggravation she held her step. 'I don't want you to wander through Kirkwall while Templars and Seekers are hunting you.' Did she really hear a trace of _pleading_? This could become interesting after all.

She turned on her heels.

'At least the Templars don't know that I am the one they are looking for. We don't even know whether they were looking for me in the first place or if they were looking for someone at all. They are having patrols all the time, it could have been a drill. And moreover, I'm pretty good at looking not like a mage at all. I think I can even manage to pass for a decent human being.' She took a little satisfaction at his wince at those words. 'But again, why do you care if I would get caught? And don't start about that stupid dept again.'

'Varric would kill me,' he said rather lamely. She cocked her head and put one hand on her hip.

_damn it, don't look so attractive, you bloody mage_

'Why can't you admit that you have grown attached to me? Just say something like, well, "you're an annoying apostate but you're _my_ annoying apostate and no one is going to lay their hands upon you but me"? It would surely be refreshing.'_ Especially if you really would lay your hands upon me._

He stared at her incredulously. The corners of his mouth started to twitch and for a moment she thought he was going to have a fit. But then he laughed out loud. She had seen him smile, several times by now and it still made her heart flutter. But hearing him laugh out loud with that mind-blowing voice of rough velvet dripping with dark molten sugar, brought back fantasies of his hands on her naked body, his hot breath swirling on her skin and his lips hungrily on hers. Despite that and although it sounded warm and deep and wonderful and bursting with unfulfilled promises, she automatically took a step back. She didn't know what to expect next. But he just shook his head and looked at her with those intense silvery green eyes. It took her a few moment to regain her brainpower.

'You're impossible,' he said.

'One of my many charms,' she agreed with a crooked smile. He groaned.

'I need a drink. Care for a glass of wine?'

She nodded, relieved that the storm had drifted off. 'I could use one after this eventful night.' The Chantry could wait, at least for now.

Fenris opened one of the bottles he had fetched from the cellar before he had gone to the Hanged Man while Hawke took a seat in the chair that she considered more or less as hers after having spent a night in it.

'You know what is strange?' she mused.

'Hmm?' he hummed, in the meantime concentrating on pulling out the cork without breaking it.

'I'm just thinking it over but when those Templars marched by, they didn't pay any attention to the corpses being scattered around whatsoever. They didn't even hold their step.'

'They are Templars,' Fenris commented without thinking, 'no City Guards. What do they care about a bunch of dead thugs lying around? They are only interested in mages. There you go. I'm sorry, still no glasses.'

That "glass of wine" was just illustrative for the way he tried to give his live some meaning, he on purpose used the term rather sarcastically; up till now he had been busy by not looking like Magisters or nobles which was roughly the same. Only the nobility drank wine out of glasses, the sufferable part of humanity was satisfied with earthen mugs. "A glass of wine" sounded posh and he hated posh. The lack of glasses suited him well. And of course Hawke never expected him to offer a glass, she was satisfied with the whole bottle. And nothing less, he suspected; he smiled inwardly at the memory of a very drunken Hawk who had burst into his room in the middle of the night.

Within less than an hour she would have turned his mind upside down, with him wholly not prepared for what she was about to say. _In all her idiotic innocence_, he thought afterwards. Days later.

'You might be right,' she nodded, accepting the bottle he passed to her.

Fenris started to open another one. 'I'm sure I am. Don't be suspicious about it, they are just a horde of rude nitwits.' His eyes flew to her in chock when his ears caught up with his own words. 'I did not just say that, didn't I? I must keep my mind together, you're starting to rub off on me.' Hawke couldn't help but laugh while he shook his head with a sigh.

_you unbearable adorable woman_

Then Hawke took in a sharp breath. 'Damn it! I left my daggers in that alley.'

'Maybe you did but I didn't,' he reassured her, 'they're on the weapon rack.'

'Oh,' she sighed relieved, 'thank you.'

They sat for a while, drinking in silence. Fenris was looking sidelong at her, taking in her lovely face, framed by her honey blond hair that almost looked reddish in the light of the dancing flames that played over her strands. Her hair was in complete disorder, not for the first time but now he had been the witness that it was a result of all the events of a hectic evening. She tried to make something of it by combing her fingers through her curls. It hardly had any results and he had to admit he only liked that. Hawke with a head full of tousled hair was quite endearing of not dangerously gorgeous. With some effort he suppressed a small gentle smile. He still felt somewhat troubled about the occurrences, all of them, but even if he had wanted to slap her a few times, he once more wasn't able to hold on to his anger. She always managed to disarm him. She seemed to have recovered from the exhaustion earlier this evening. She still looked a little pale although that was difficult to see, also because of the glowing and moving fire.

All the time one of her remarks kept swirling in his mind.

'You're a mage,' he started pensively, making her to turn her head.

'I plead guilty,' she said in a slightly mocking tone, 'but I thought we already determined that. Weeks ago in fact.'

Fenris shot her a somewhat irritated look. 'Then why do you hate to use it?'

She thought about that for a moment. 'To avoid reactions like yours? To stay free instead of getting locked up? Lots of obvious reasons? Why are you bothered by it anyway? I thought you'd be happy about it.' She sighed when she saw his expression. 'Frankly, I'm not that good at wielding magic,' she confessed with an apologetic smile. He stared at her sceptically for some moments.

'That's a load of nonsense,' he then countered, 'I saw you handle that arcane horror as if it was a lesser shade or skeleton. I saw you shatter those thugs as if they were but a bunch of inferior puppets. I come from a country of Magisters and I know no minor mage could accomplish what you did here, on that very landing.' He waved his hand in the direction where the disturbing event had taken place, 'or back there in that slum. So don't lie to me, you must be very powerful.'

'And perhaps you also noticed how drained I am after casting just one spell? Tell me how that agrees with me being powerful.'

'It would help if you'd carry some lyrium potions with you,' he objected.

Marian shook her head. 'I can drink as much lyrium as I want, in fact so much that I poison myself with the filth, it won't help one bit. There's no mana flowing through my veins. You can't replenish something that isn't there.'

'But ... _what_?' Fenris tried to comprehend what she had said and could hardly grasp it; the impact was too perplexing if not enormous. 'But if that is true, how do you succeed to perform magic at all?'

Hawke shrugged. 'I just tap into the Fade and use the energy that lingers there.'

His eyes narrowed. That made sense but in a very bad way. 'You mean you use the power of demons,' he growled, 'I knew there must be –'

'I never encountered a demon in my entire life,' she cut down the foreseeable heated accusation, 'at least not in the Fade. Here in Kirkwall they seem to pop up at every corner but they don't affect me.' He snapped his mouth shut and just stared at her. She was looking at her booted feet, turning the plain silver ring on her left hand around and around. It looked like some kind of nervous habit. He couldn't believe her, didn't want to believe her. He had witnessed a lot of magic and always there were heaps of lyrium, mana and demons involved. And now this woman whom he considered hard to understand to start with, stated she didn't use any of those. She turned into an even bigger conundrum. He rose from his chair and began to pace the room, trying to listen to her and at the same time figure out her words and his own thoughts.

'I wouldn't even know how to get in contact with a demon,' she went on as if she wanted to make an apology, 'and apparently they don't know to harass me because they never made an effort.'

He pushed his fingers against his temples. 'Let me get this clear. Unlike any other mage you don't need mana and more important, you're not plagued by demons that want to manipulate you. I assume that means you can't resort to bloodmagic.'

'I wouldn't know how. I can of course try to bleed myself dry and call, 'Here, demon, demon, demon,' she said with a mischievous smile.

Fenris groaned. 'This is not funny Hawke, this is a serious matter.' He paced to and fro once more. 'Why do you go into the Fade anyway if you're not seeking the aid of demons?'

'I don't go into the Fade as such, I just assemble the energy that exist there. You'd be surprised how much you can find. I suppose the demons must be very industrious all the time.'

'But the Fade ... I would think you'd stay away from that place, to avoid any risk possible.'

Hawke chortled. 'I could use the world's energy but I'm afraid people start to talk when plants suddenly wilt, animals start to keel over and they themselves faint. In this case making use of the Fade is much safer be it extremely tiring. For me at least.'

Fenris suddenly chuckled. 'The idea that you make demons pass out sounds very appealing I must admit.' But he became immediately serious again.

Did she herself know how incredible she sounded? Fenris had reached the window for the fith time and turned to pace back to the hearth. She followed him with her eyes. With every twirl he took, his moonlike bangs fell into his face and he wiped them out of his eyes with an impatient gesture. She wished she could do that for him. By now she knew how wondrously soft they felt. 'And it never struck you as odd you didn't need mana. Or even have mana.'

'Well, for a long time I was under the impression other mages were like me, that they didn't need it to perform magic. Only years later I found out.'

'If that's the case, if all what you are telling me is true, how did you discover you're a mage?'

She took a draught from her bottle. 'As a matter of fact I don't recall. I've been a mage as long as I can remember.'

'You were _that_ young?' And there was another piece of the puzzle that didn't fit.

She chew on her lower lip. 'My father found out, alright?' He stopped in mid-pace to look at her. 'Your father?' She put the bottle back on the table and took a defiant posture. 'Yes, my father. He and my sister were also mages and also apostates so now you can start another accusing rant –'

Fenris interrupted her with an irritated motion of his arm. 'Not now, Hawke.' That wasn't important, not at this moment. He resumed his restless striding.

'My father taught me the technique of tapping into the Fade, how to guide the energy into my body and how to change it into magic. And how to do a spell properly. At first I was very good in accidently letting things explode but I learned.'

Fenris only listened with half an ear. A nasty suspicion was growing fast. 'Who knows about this?' She fidgeted with her ring some more. 'Just my family.' Abruptly she looked up. 'For the Maker's sake, can you stop that maddening marching? It's driving me crazy.'

He slammed his hands on the table, making her flinch.

'Have you considered _this_ is the reason the Seekers are after you?' Her eyes grew wide and with a jolt she sat up straight..

'You don't really mean that, do you? Why would they be interested?'

Fenris gave her a wan smile. 'For such an intelligent and witty woman, you can be very naive.'

Marian bristled but before she could protest he said, 'Think about it, Hawke. Let's say the Seekers got somehow wind of your – condition; a mage who doesn't need mana and even more important, who doesn't even _know_ how to merge with demons. How do you think that would inflict the way people look at mages? How intrigued do you think the Seekers would be? I bet they would do anything, _everything_, to get such a mage in their hands. And I fear they would turn you inside out, literally if need be, to find out how you do it.' That idea was suddenly very disturbing. He almost recommenced his pacing but changed his mind and slumped back in his chair.

'And what about your father and sister? Are they like you?' He realized he knew about her brother, mother and uncle but nothing about any other family members.

'Were,' Hawke whispered. 'They are dead, both of them.' He noticed she looked suddenly sad. He let out a deep breath and clasped his hands together. Of course. She had used the past time when she referred to them. Stupid.

'I'm sorry.'

'You don't need to be. It's not your fault, you didn't kill them.'

'I should have listened better.' He paused for some heartbeats. Had he said this because of his history of being a slave or because of her? No, now was not the time to contemplate this, there were riddles enough to deal with at this moment. Nevertheless he asked, as concerned as he could, 'How did they meet their ends?'

She rubbed her face. 'My sister Bethany got crushed by an ogre while we were fleeing the Blight in Ferelden and my father ... met with an accident years earlier.' He noticed the hesitation in her voice but decided not to press on. Important as it was, for her at least, it did not solve the problem of the Seekers and the connection that might exist with her impossible use of magic. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

'Why didn't you tell me before?'

'And spoil all the fun? Sorry. Honestly I don't know. It's just natural to me, why mention it.'

'As natural as your irony,' Fenris murmured. Louder he resumed, 'Do you understand how important this is?'

She tried to compose herself. 'I'm beginning to comprehend it. To be honest, I have denied all that I told you for such a long time now that I became convinced it wasn't that important. I mean about my strange way of wielding magic and all that. You may be right, about the reason the Seekers are after me.' She swallowed nervously. 'If that is true, if they really found out, then my family is indeed in danger.' She hung her head. 'And it will all be my fault if something happens to them.'

'No, don't think that way. Don't blame yourself, you can't help the way you were born.'

She stared at him with raised eyebrows. 'I hope you realize Anders would fall of his chair if he heard this, I'm not certain from chock or with laughter.'

'I already told you you start to rub off on me,' he said flatly, 'but let me make it clear for you, I don't support his idiotic idea of freeing all mages who have access of every demon available.'

'I don't either.'

'Then why do you tolerate him? And that bloodmage, while we're at it?'

'Anders can be useful as a healer and I got stuck with Merrill because of a dept. A real dept. Long story, I'll tell you on another night. But to be honest, I rather like her. And so does my brother,' she added grinning. 'But mostly I keep them around to keep an eye on them. You are right, a possessed mage and one that uses bloodmagic, for whatever the reason, can be dangerous and I want to be there to interfere when things go wrong.'

He shook his head and then smiled lopsidedly.

'You never cease to amaze me.'

'One of my other qualities.' She let her eyes dwell through the room before they ended on the fire. 'I truly hope Carver has succeeded to convince Mother to take refuge in the Hanged Man for a spell. I think Aveline is right, my family as safest there. I fear we will still meet a lot of trouble.'

'If so, you can count on my assistance.'

'I know I can, you proved that. Several times over and especially this night.'

He hid his confusion and sentiment that her words caused behind his bottle.

* * *

Carver groaned and grunted while he was reaching his peak. He had bent Faith over a table, his favourite way to nail her, and she was making keening, moaning sounds, meeting his cock as best as she could by rubbing her behind as close to him as was possible. As usual. She was very good at that. He knew she did that just because he paid her and he decided she had to work for his money. He couldn't exactly decide if she was doing this because she liked the deed or him but on the other hand he couldn't mind less. She at least enjoyed it, he felt the moist in her sheath built up, letting his cock glide easily in her wetness. His fingers reached for her nub, rubbing her hard, she wrenched and keened harder and then released her hot cream around his cock in one vigorous pounding move. Her body shuddered but he knew she didn't fake this time because of the wetness she had let go.

He grabbed her hips forcefully to avoid her to move away from him. His fingers would leave blue stamps but he didn't care. With a loud shout he emptied himself into her, pounding in her wet core some longer to hold on to the feeling that never ceased to overwhelm him. As always shattered images of Merrell entered his mind. It was her he wanted to fuck, or rather to make love to, but he still hadn't found a way to conquer her heart, let alone her body so he still made use of the whore in the Rose who at least reminded him of the small elf. Her he would never bend over a table, with her he would have a wonderful soft bed in an astonishing luxurious room, with cooled white wine, all the chocolates she wanted and other lots of unnecessary nonsense. Just to please her. He would have the room furnished with the flowers she seemed to admire, as long as she would be satisfied and opened her heart and everything else to him. He let go of Faith's body. She immediately turned to him and slapped him mildly on his chest.

'You know I don't want this. Now I have to go and drink one of those repulsive potions to avoid a pregnancy.'

'There are other methods,' he replied, not interested in her complaint at all, mostly annoyed she disturbed his dream.

'Yes, buying some of those too expensive herbs to avoid all the mess. But you could spurn your seed outside of my body to avoid that.'

He didn't even bother to answer her. He went downstairs to have a drink at the bar with one of his friends who had accompanied him and already had his pleasure with the girl of his preference. His name was Wilmod and he was a junior Templar. It amused Carver to befriend a Templar while having a mage as sister. He would never tell him of course, like Marian had stated to Aveline, he knew the value of family. His sister had saved his hide more times than he could count. It annoyed him but he couldn't get around it. He was seriously contemplating the idea of becoming a Templar himself, perhaps he could save _her_ hide for a change.

'And, was she any good tonight?' Wilmod dragged him out of his thoughts.

'More than good,' he grinned, 'and what about your famous Wonder of the East?'

Wilmod emptied his glass of whisky and waved to the barman to fill it up. 'Couldn't be better.'

Carver mused that this night at last had turned out to be pleasurable. He had been in a very sour mood when he left his uncle's hovel. Marian had left it to him to tell their mother that the Hanged Man would be her home for the next days or even weeks. For her own sake. And he had been forced to use all of his power of persuasion and wheedle techniques to make her to rent one of the rooms in the tavern. All the time she had been cursing Marian, blaming her for the awful situation she found herself in. And although he didn't like his sister very much, what with her taking the lead as if it was her right, he somehow felt this was not fair. But a good fuck with Faith and now a nice drink did a lot to lighten his temper.

After his third drink he decided it was time to go. He too would stay in the Hanged Man and he could take one for the road to bed there. So he slapped Wilmod on his shoulder.

'Don't make it too late,' he said, slightly slurring, 'I understand the Knight Commander likes her recruits sober and prepared. You never know where you catch your next mage.'

'Don't worry, I'll be ready as always,' Wilmod replied with a smirk.

Still leering about the silly joke, Carver started to the long flight of steps that led to Lowtown. Halfway he got the feeling that something wasn't right. He was certain he was being followed. He turned, his sword already in hand. Not two moments later he got a blow on his head that knocked him flat out.

Four hooded persons surrounded him.

'Take him to the affirmed place,' one of them said, 'she will bite now.'

* * *

When morning came, Hawke woke in Fenris's bed. She couldn't exactly remember how she had ended up there and regretted he wasn't there with her the moment she opened her eyes and felt the emptiness next to her. As it turned out he was standing beside the bed with a cup of hot coffee in his hands.

'I may make a habit of feeding you, you're making a habit of serving me coffee,' she grunted, trying to chase away the sleep.

He laughed. 'The moment you're awake, you start to talk. Unbelievable.'

She sat up and took the steaming mug.

'Must I repeat myself about all of my wonderful virtues,' she grumbled, 'where did you sleep anyway?' _Since you didn't make astonishing love to me. I may have drunk a bottle of wine, but that I would have remembered._

'In my chair, where else.'

'I can think of a couple of other – '

She got interrupted by a very agitated Varric who entered the room, panting heavily as if he had run the whole way from The Hanged Man to Fenris's mansion, which he actually had.

'Hawke! Disaster! You're brother has been kidnapped. By Seekers.' he said with uncharacteristiclty seriousness.

Fenris caught the mug she dropped and burned his hand by doing so but he did hardly noticed. Hawke's face had become rigid.

'You're sure about this?' Her voice sounded like metal. Wordlessly the dwarf handed her a note.

_Serah Hawke,_

_Go to the docks and meet someone with a red cloak. He will wait for you at the entrance of the Qunari compound. He will lead you to me. If you want your brother to live, don't alarm the guards. _

She read the note out aloud and then looked up at the elf and the dwarf.

'It sounds like a terrible invitation to a blind date,' she said with an attempt at humour but Fenris, who was studying her face intensely saw she was biting back tears. 'We'd better go then.'

In an impulse he laid his hand on her arm.

'I'm with you,' he said solemnly. 'As am I,' Varric added. She tried to smile.

'I know. But it's good to know I have friends. Let's go kill the bastards that had the impudence to abduct my brother.'

Fenris still wanted to ask her a lot of questions, but that could wait. Rescuing her brother was the most important thing at hand at this moment.

* * *

**Thank you for reading and you know by now, it is much appreciated. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Now all the excitement of having a king and a new queen has drifted off, I finally found the time to post this chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 10

Hawke tapped with her fingers on Fenris's table. She had recovered somewhat from the shock the news of the abduction of her brother had caused her. Or rather she had forced herself to have another try at drinking coffee; it would surely be better than storming out of the door at a whim. She needed to think. She had apologized remorsefully to Fenris about burning his hand and making a mess by dropping the mug he so thoughtfully had brought her but he had brushed it aside. He had gone downstairs to make her a new cup since the first one was mostly spilled over him and the floor.

'How did you know I was here?' Hawke asked in the meantime after she and Varric had sat down at the table.

'You weren't at the Hanged Man or at your uncle's excuse for a house and it wouldn't have been the first time you crashed in here,' Varric smirked.

'We got attacked last night,' she more or less explained.

'What? They kidnapped your brother _and_ attacked you? That Seeker fellow doesn't like half work.'

Hawke grinned half-heartedly. 'No, this was an average every day attack as in They Never Learn. Only there were quite a lot of them so I was forced to use magic.'

Varric whistled lowly. 'I bet the elf didn't take that very well.'

Hawke shrugged. 'It might have been worse. But shortly after that we almost stumbled into a Templar patrol. And when we got away with a narrow escape Fenris deemed it safer for me to spend the night at his place. And before you get funny ideas, no, nothing happened.' _Alas_.

'The thought never crossed my mind,' Varric lied. He surveyed her for a short while and said: 'You know Hawke, life with you around is never dull.'

Marian laughed. 'We did have a lot of excitement of late, didn't we? A little less would be welcome to be honest.'

Fenris re-entered with fresh coffee and a bottle of wine for Varric since he had a cellar full of wine but not a drop of ale in his whole mansion. He had reasoned though that at this moment the dwarf would even have settled with the pirate wench's foul rum.

'Before I forget,' Varric said, 'previous to being taken by the Seekers, Carver managed to talk your mother into the Hanged Man. She went kicking and screaming but at least she's there now.'

'My mother!' Hawke shrieked with terror. 'Does she know –'

'No no no!' The dwarf fluttered his hands vehemently to reassure her. 'She doesn't know about little Hawke-cock's predicament yet, no need to panic.' Hawke breathed relieved. 'Till now she has mostly busied herself with harassing Corff about the state of her room and scolding the servant girls for barter away their virtue by working in such a abominable place,' the dwarf added sourly. Fenris hardly managed to suppress a grin about Varric's term for Hawke's brother. He thought it very striking.

'Yes, that's my mum,' Hawke sighed.

She took a sip from her coffee. She stared maliciously at the note that lay before her on the table, as if it had bitten her, reread the blasted thing and started to spin it round on the wooden surface with a finger. All sorts of thoughts went through her mind. Varric knew that expression all too well.

'I'm not sure if trying to find and free your brother is such a good idea,' he said carefully, 'you may run out of time.'

Hawke flashed him a short smile. 'I'm well aware of that. Besides that, the thought of Carver causing all sorts of trouble is very attractive. He too is a Hawke after all, or perhaps "an Amell" is more appropriate; he will no doubt give his abductors a damn hard time. And he is, of course, our ticket to the Seeker. I want answers. Nevertheless it won't hurt to do a little investigation. Knowing his whereabouts will give us an advantage. We don't have to free him immediately, just post some men at the place. Out of sight of course.'

_O Andraste's burning bosom, don't go there Hawke, _Varric thought but instead he said, 'Don't you think they will keep him close at hand? Like in the same place where you are supposed to meet the Seeker? Seems logical to me.'

But she didn't hear him; another thought had come up. 'And the note warned us not to involve the City Guard but it said nothing about the Red Iron, we can always threaten with them.' She frowned pensively. 'We can put them into action anyhow, let them search out all the good hide-out places, keep them at hand as a makeshift army.'

'And you think they will listen to you,' Varric said sceptically. Marian smiled smugly.

'I don't see why not. Their boss is dead, there is a vacuum of power. They will obey the first one who barks orders at them and I can be very good at barking orders if I put my back into it.'

Varric almost choked on the wine he had accepted as a surrogate for his morning ale. He hadn't had the opportunity for even one sip before the message was stuffed into his hands and he had rushed off to tell Hawke the bad news but this was better than nothing. 'You're not really thinking about becoming Meeran's successor?' he coughed alarmed.

'It could be very profitable,' Hawke replied with her most neutral face. She started to laugh when she saw the dwarf's startled expression. 'Of course not! Although it would be worth it just to see Aveline's reaction. And wipe off your chin, the wine is dripping into your precious chest hair.'

'The scary thing is that I'm not convinced you wouldn't do it,' Varric grumbled, industriously cleaning his chest.

'Frankly, I hardly see the difference between being the head of the Red Iron and the head of the Merchants Guild.'

'The big difference is that you don't get arrested for being the head of the Merchants Guild,' Varric contradicted.

'As far as I know Meeran has never been arrested. But we digress.' She sighed. 'On second thought, perhaps it isn't a good idea to involve the Red Iron; they're apt to make a complete mess of it. After all they're just a bunch of brainless mercenaries, they would only cause a lot of trouble. But we could do some asking around ourselves. Starting with the last place Carver has been. I take it he didn't show up at the Hanged Man?'

'Haven't seen him all night.'

'The Blooming Rose,' Fenris suggested.

'Ah, yes. Why didn't I think of that myself, the most obvious place,' Hawke grinned, 'let's head there now.' She pushed back her chair.

'Hawke,' Fenris said tentatively, 'I don't want to put any pressure on you, but don't you think it is unwise to let that Seeker wait for too long? For some reason he doesn't strike me as the patient type. He might do some unpleasant things to your brother if he gets the impression you thwart him.'

'I'm touched by your concern,' Hawke said while she rose, 'but I'm pretty sure Carver is safe. I said he is our ticket to the Seeker but it is also the other way around. He would be very stupid to let any harm come to my brother if he wants to meet me.' She shoved the chair under the table and added, 'I'm positive this situation is more dangerous for me than for him.' She leaned her hands on the back of the chair and looked almost challenging at the elf and the dwarf. 'Not that the man scares me that much. He doesn't even know how to avoid a protective marbari or to set a proper trap.'

'Don't make the mistake of underestimating that Seeker, Hawke,' Fenris warned her, 'he had Meeran killed just to cover his tracks, he now has kidnapped your brother –'

'That's not a big feat,' Hawke huffed, 'even Merrill would have succeeded in knocking him out when he staggered out of the Rose, drunk as a sailor who has tried to make up for a two months lack of rum.'

'Listen to me Hawke,' Fenris insisted a little irritably, 'you must acknowledge he is dangerous. I'm not letting you face him alone,' he ended determined. Flashes of what could happen to her returned and disturbed him even more. She may be tough and might have made it hot for Meeran in such a way that the mercenary had turned into a puddle of outright fear, cold sweat and warm piss (if he could at least belief Varric's colourful version of what occurred); threatening the boss of the Red Iron was something far different from facing a Seeker. But when Hawke looked at him he saw suddenly a shard of sorrow and concern in her eyes that her little smile couldn't cover. He realized she didn't feel half as cheerful and confident as she wanted to make belief him and Varric she did. He also stood up.

'Hawke, you don't have to act as if you aren't worried at all. I understand and I'm certain Varric does too.' He stretched out his hand to her and after some hesitation she took it. He squeezed hers reassuringly and quickly let go again. In the back of his head a voice mockingly remarked that by now the boundary of no touch had been trespassed so many times, mostly by himself, that it could be considered as nonexistent. If he weren't careful, he would soon start to fondle her and end up ... 'I know you are strong, you don't have to prove that,' he stated gritty, trying to drown the irksome voice, 'don't pretend this doesn't affect you greatly.'

Hawke looked down at her hands. 'I hate it not being able to do something, that I'm forced to sit idle, that I have to dance to the tune of that, that –'she let out a frustrated growl and clenched her fists. She swallowed hard. 'I made a pledge to myself to keep them all save,' she said in a small voice, 'and now I failed twice.' Images of a crushed Bethany entered her mind. Again. The thought something should happen to her brother was unbearable.

'You didn't fail at all; how were you supposed to protect Junior when he is never around?' Varric countered. 'Don't forget he is a big boy and you don't have to babysit him any longer, as if he would be grateful for that anyway. Besides, you still can rush in and safe the day. I do however recommend we drum up all our companions just to be on the safe side. That one red-cloaked person could turn out to be another trap. And by the way, Hawke, I agree with the elf. You don't have to keep up an appearance. Showing some anxiety would make you more human and – approachable.'

Hawke smiled mirthlessly. 'It would indeed be so much better if I burst out in tears and whined about my misfortune. Woe is me! My poor brother has been taken by bad, bad men –'

'Stop that Hawke,' Fenris interrupted her sternly, 'it doesn't suit you.'

She sagged. 'Oh bloody hell,' she grunted, 'you are right, I am tense.'

'Like I said, I won't let you face him alone.'

'I doubt if you'll be given that chance.'

'Watch me,' Fenris said grimly.

Hawke opened her mouth to shout something about being stupidly stubborn but closed it at the same time in a flash of self contemplation. Instead she turned to Varric. 'And yes, I agree this could be another trap, I don't trust anything coming from that son of a bitch anymore.' She cocked her head when a thought hit her. 'What if he hasn't abducted Carver at all? What if it's just a new trick to lure me in?'

Varric groaned inwardly. 'Don't go of, Hawke, I think it's best to assume Junior is in his claws and act like it.'

Fenris started to move his hand in her direction again but changed his mind, if only to stop that damned droning voice in his head. 'Hawke,' he said softly, 'you can stomp your feet, scream you voice hoarse, come up with the most idiotic plans and outrageous theories but it's best to accept the circumstances as they are. There is nothing you can do but to meet that Seeker.'

She clenched her jaws but then looked at him, the faintest of smiles on her lips. When she met his understanding silvery green eyes it was all she could do not to flee into his arms.

'It's – difficult not to have the situation in your own hands,' she whispered.

He held her gaze. 'I know.' She started, angry with herself.

_Of course he knows, you bloody dim-witted ass, he hasn't been able to hold _his_ situation in his own hands for almost all his life._

Finally she calmed down and regained her composure. 'Let's proceed with Varric's plan then.'

The dwarf had let his eyes wander from Hawke to the elf and back, wondering once again what had happened before he had woke up Hawke finding her lying in Fenris's bed and the elf standing next to her, holding a mug of coffee. Had they really ... he abandoned his thoughts. Other things were important now but he decided to keep a close eye on them. His epic love-story needed fodder after all.

'I will go and get Rivaini and Daisy,' he said, 'and Blondie.' He remembered Fenris's dislike of the healer, to put it mildly. The elf wouldn't be pleased to go the clinic for any kind of reason. 'You two run to the Keep to fetch Aveline. We will meet each other at the entrance of the Docks.'

'Let's go do that,' Hawke said with a determined look on her face, 'let's seek out a Seeker.'

'Ouch,' Varric whimpered, 'please try not to joke while you're in this state of mind.'

She shot him a deadly look while she marched out of the room.

* * *

Hawke, Fenris and Aveline stood at the steps leading down to the Docks, waiting for the others to arrive. Fenris lounged against a wall with an air of complete serenity. Hawke recognised that as the posture of a warrior just before going into battle, recoiling into himself, concentrating, mediating even. Apparently he took his self imposed task to protect her very seriously. He looked more handsome than ever, with the morning sun caressing his moonlike hair, two heavenly bodies meeting one other. An exquisite elven one in this case. The exposed toned arm muscles seemed to glisten in the sunrays and Hawke suddenly remembered Isabela's question if Fenris's former master used to oil him up. She had wanted to strangle the pirate queen back then and at this moment she would definitely do it as yet if she'd repeat the remark. She took in a sharp breath. Why? Why would she be jealous? She had pledged not to fall in love, so why be bothered by a flirtatious banter between Fenris and Isabela? Yes, she had been highly agitated by feeling his body so close to hers when he was trying – successfully – to ward off the Templars. And yes, she felt his almost magnetic attraction. When he had stated he would not let her face the Seeker alone she had felt a warm feeling flowing through her body. But besides all that she ... _Bloody hell. She had fallen in love with him. Damn it. What a moment to find out._

She got distracted by Aveline shoving her shoulder.

'There they are.' Aveline pointed at the group approaching them. Hawke had to admit the Guard Captain had immediately backed her when she had told her what had transpired. She had let everything fall out of her hands to follow her, even had gone as far as donning her old armour to avoid looking like a guardswoman.

The first one to approach her was Anders. He embraced her hard and whispered into her ear, 'I'm so sorry Hawke. This is again an attack on mages. A very cowardly one. But know that I'm with you.' She wanted to slap him. Her brother was at the mercy of a Seeker because of her weird use of magic and Anders managed to turn it into his cherished plight of mages he couldn't stop rambling about. She tried to move away from him and over his shoulder she caught the hateful glance of Fenris. Was that because of Anders himself or the fact he was holding her? She wriggled out of Anders's hug and he let go reluctantly.

'This is a personal matter Anders,' she said crossly, 'it has nothing to do with your hobby.' The mage looked hurt but before he could react, Isabela, who had been scouting the entrance of the Docks, returned. 'There stands indeed a figure wrapped in a red cloak opposite the Qunari compound. As far as I could see he is alone, no big bad guys lingering in the shadows. Shall we?'

'What if we take him captive and –' Hawke began but was immediately cut short by Varric. 'We go down there and you address the red cloak. Properly. Now move it.' With a deep sigh Marian started to descend the stairs.

The moment she approached the mysterious cloaked figure, he pushed back his hood. Hawke stood a moment agape.

'Alright, now I'm really tired of all the lies and deceptions. I was supposed to meet a man and you turn out to be a woman. What's next? Exploding bombs? An army pouncing upon us? The Divine herself to drag me away to Val Royeaux?' She was overreacting, she knew it, but this new twist was playing on her already raging nerves.

The elderly woman in front of her heaved her hand to silence her. She looked severe but had friendly eyes.

'I was already told you're somewhat of a spitfire, Serah Hawke,' she said with a soft warm voice.

Marian bristled. 'Well excuse me, but I've been having a rather stressful time. Where is my brother?'

'All in good time, Serah Hawke. You were indeed supposed to meet a man but after all that has occurred I thought it wiser to collect you myself.'

'I know you,' Anders suddenly piped up, 'I met you in Amaranthine in the company of the Hero of Ferelden. You, you are Wynne.'

The woman let her eyes rest on him for a moment. 'Anders, isn't it? Yes, I remember you.'

'But you are a mage! How can you cooperate with the Seekers?!' His voice caught with agitation.

Fenris frowned. They were on their way to meet a Seeker and yet stumbled upon a mage. He didn't seem being able to avoid them.

'Like I said, all in good time. Now, if you will be so good to follow me ..?'

* * *

Wynne headed for the eastern part of the docks. She set a fast tempo and they had to hurry to keep up with her.

'If she is a mage, than everything is alright, isn't it?' Hawke heard Merrill chime somewhere behind her back. 'I mean she won't let the Seekers do any harm to Hawke or Carver, won't she? She looks nice.' She sounded nervous but then again, she always did.

'Daisy, don't worry. Whatever the case, Hawke will find a way out,' Varric's baritone retorted slightly panting. Hawke considered that the dwarf had to run twice as fast as the rest of them. Or scurry as Isabela had put it. If they would make it out alive of this tricky situation he would without doubt add a glorious chapter to her already exaggerated story. She grimaced.

Wynne halted at a warehouse with the Orlaisian merchant's guild emblem above the door. She looked around her before she opened it and ushered them in. Inside in a compact room stuffed with crates, about a dozen soldiers stood guard and one of them blocked their way to the next door.

'Only the mage and Hawke are allowed,' he said. Fenris took a step forward so he was level with Marian.

'I am Hawke's bodyguard and I'm not leaving her side,' he announced in a gravely and menacing voice and he let his markings flare for a few moments. Wide-eyed the guard shrank back.

'Show-off,' Anders murmured. With some difficulties Hawke managed to keep a straight face. Her bodyguard? Hmm, that term was open for all sorts of interpretations.

'It's alright, captain,' Wynne said, 'let him pass.' The guard seemed not very pleased but nevertheless opened the door for them. 'The others stay here,' he growled.

Wynne led them trough a wide space and over a staircase to a room that was sparsely furnished. It held only a desk and some simple wooden stools. Hawke noticed that the only window had a lovely view on the Gallows. How appropriate. The room also held four burly sentries and a tall man clad in a dark cloak. His age was hard to guess, probably somewhere between forty and fifty. His almost black coloured eyes were cold and unfathomable. He stared intensely at Hawke as if he wanted to pull the thoughts out of her head but she refused to be intimidated.

'Take a seat,' he said, waving at the stools. His voice was as dark as his eyes, vibrating with authority.

'No thank you, I prefer to stand.' The man was already much taller than she was, no need to worsen that disadvantage.

'Very well. If you don't mind I skip the pleasantries and come right to the point._' And here we'll have it._ 'What do you know about your father?'

Hawke had steeled herself against a harsh interrogation about her unique way of wielding magic, worked up all her mental strength to withstand any kind of method that would be used against her and now _this_? She deflated.

'My father ...?'

'Yes, are you deaf? I want information about him.'

And now anger began to make her blood boil.

'You started a bloody massacre and abducted my brother to obtain information about my _father_? You never considered the option to, oh I don't know, simply knock at my door or pay a visit at the Hanged Man? We could have discussed the topic in all peace and quiet over a cup of tea or a pint of ale.'

'It's not that simple.'

'I truly hope so,' Hawke sneered, 'I'm dying for an explanation and you seem to be extremely good at letting people die.'

'I thought you were the one with that talent,' Fenris murmured behind her; he simply couldn't help himself. The only one who heard him was Hawke and she pretended not to.

'We couldn't just approach you openly. Everything about your father is highly classified; we needed stealth.'

Hawke burst out laughing. 'Stealth indeed,' her voice dripped with sarcasm, 'I would call a mansion full of corpses a classic example of stealth. You had the whole City Guard in an uproar!'

'I must admit that went not exactly as planned.'

'You don't say! And what about leaving the murdered head of a criminal organisation at the doorstep of the best known brothel in Kirkwall? Brilliant, that one. Got the Guard even more alert. Stealth!' she snorted.

The Seeker momentarily seemed at a loss for words. He was visibly confused by her ferocious reaction. Wynne moved over to him and lightly put a hand on his arm.

'Perhaps it's best that I take it from here,' she said calmly. He just nodded. Fenris mused that the man in his career as a Seeker undoubtedly never had stumbled upon a grilling victim that shouted back in the way Hawke did. It was a bit like a feeble looking kitten that suddenly decided to disembowel the dog that chased it.

'Let's start over,' Wynne said, 'I agree pleasantries aren't necessary but an introduction would be appropriate. As you know by now my name is Wynne. I'm the First Enchanter of the Circle in Ferelden and an adviser of the Royal Counsel in Denerim. This gentleman is named Berran, a Seeker as you have probably already guessed and Head of the Special Assignment section in Val Royeaux. We are here to gather all information possible about Malcolm Hawke.'

'Alright, bite me,' Marian said, 'what is so damn important about my father that you had to leave a trail of dead people through the whole of Kirkwall?'

Berran, as the Seeker's name apparently was, grunted something under his breath. 'You were a lot harder to catch than we had thought up forehand,' he continued louder.

'Catch me? Is that what you call the attempted assaults on my life?' Hawke scorned heatedly, 'Not to mention the danger you put my friends into!'

'They weren't assaults on your life,' the Seeker growled, 'we were trying to take you captive in a peaceful way.' That kindled her fury even more.

'And you thought that luring me into an empty mansion and sending a few dozen thugs or mercenaries or whatever they were on me would convince me of your diplomatic purposes?! And what about that woman that tried to break into my house and was only stopped by the alert reaction of my marbari? She committed suicide, fuck you. Was I to understand she just had the intention to ask me friendly to come with her to answer some questions about my father? By the way, did you know you used the house of a necromancer? Not very fitting for a Seeker I would say. You have messed up big time. I suggest you hand over my brother right now. We will walk out of here without being hindered by your guards and you can send me a humble invitation to meet each other elsewhere. And if you insist on stealth, I recommend a nice secluded spot at the Wounded Coast or on Sundermount. I will even provide for the pick nick-basket.' Her eyes spat fire at this moment.

_The kitten has turned into a lioness, _Fenris thought. He had to admit he admired her greatly at this moment. She had been wounded up, consumed by feelings of guilt, he assumed. He had sensed at the moment she had hesitated to tell how her father had met his death she was hiding something. Something that had made her promise herself to protect the rest of her family members. And during their flight out of Ferelden she had lost her sister. He considered that must have been quite a blow; she had mentioned it almost airily it but he had seen the hurt, almost desperate expression in her eyes. And now her brother was in danger. He realized that her anger was mostly aimed at that fact, or better at the failure to keep him out of danger. She would risk everything to save him, even her own life. He now than ever regretted he knew nothing about the family he must have had. Would he have done the same? He couldn't tell. She didn't even know about that, perhaps it was time he'd tell her about his loss of memory. He ripped himself out of his contemplations and forced himself to focus on what was going on. Some kind of bodyguard he was, to let slip away his attention. He looked at her back, desperately wanting to give her some kind of support, to let her know he was standing behind her in every sence possible. Why, why was he so badly trying to get on her good side, even pretending to be her bodyguard to stay with her and save her from harm? And while he was at it, why had he gone back to the kitchen previous this morning to make her another cup of coffee, like some kind of servant – slave? _Venhedis_!

_I'm not falling in love with her, I won't allow it. I don't even know how. I don't want to. Don't mess up the mess. Keep your distance, keep her at bay. _He suppressed the rising panic and made himself to concentrate on the task he had imposed on himself. _Hold on to that. _He returned his mind to the angry dialogue between Hawke and Berran.

'The woman trying to get into your house was a new recruit, very dedicated. She knew what was at stake, if things would go wrong she'd take the pill with poison.' Berran's voice boomed through the room.

'Antivan Crow's venom,' Hawke hissed, 'deadly at an instance. Why did she take it? She could just have fled.'

'She couldn't, she failed, and that's the Seekers way. You wouldn't understand.'

'Try me,' Hawke said defiantly.

'Enough of this,' Wynne intervened sternly, 'that's not why we are here.' She hadn't raised her voice but nevertheless the two brawlers fell silent. And then she dropped the bomb. 'Serah Hawke, are you aware your father was a mage from Tevinter?'

Despite his own shock Fenris reacted in a split-second and caught her halfway her staggered fall.

* * *

**Ah yes, a cliff-hanger. I apologize to everyone who hates this. Needless to say that the next chapter will explain – well not everything but at least a lot. And again thank you so much for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you so much for your reviews! As promised some revelations in this chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 11

Fenris was having a very hard time keeping an infuriated Hawke from flying at the mage or the Seeker or probably both.

'You lie!' she yelled at the top of her lungs. 'My father was from Ferelden, he was not a filthy Magister!'

'Calm down Hawke, before you have us both killed,' Fenris hissed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the four burly guards stir and reach for their weapons. He feared they were going to attack if she went on seething like this and although she undoubtedly would fight like an enraged cat he wasn't by far sure if the two of them were able to defeat four brawny guards, a Seeker and an undoubtedly very powerful mage. These were no random thugs or mercenaries. These people were unquestionably highly skilled and knew above all who they were and what they were capable of and would react to that. But whether it was due to his words or because she was getting tired Hawke finally yielded.

'You lie,' she repeated panting. Though she had stopped struggling he still held her arms in a firm grip, in this state of mind she could turn into an unguided missile anytime and cause an explosion like a fire-arrow in a barrel of gaatlok.

'I'm sorry,' Wynne said, 'I hadn't anticipated my words would cause such an eruption.' It wasn't exactly clear whom she apologized to, 'perhaps it is better we sit down after all.'

Fenris pushed Hawke to the nearest stool available and forced her down, keeping his hands lightly on her shoulders. She seemed more or less relaxed by now but it could be the lull before the next storm. He could still feel the tension in her muscles.

'What _did_ you anticipate, that I would burst out cheering?' Hawke now snarled. 'Oh yes, I'm overjoyed to learn my father was a bloodmage! Imagine that! The parent you always admired performing disgusting rituals and -' Fenris strengthened his hold, sensing her getting all wound up again and in response she stopped talking. It surprised him.

'We are having a big misunderstanding here,' Wynne stressed, 'Malcolm Hawke was not a bloodmage and certainly not a Magister. And you were right insofar that your father was born in Ferelden. But his family moved to Tevinter when he was still a babe.' She and Berran also sat down. Wynne nodded at Fenris. 'You too take a seat young man. I know you're not really her bodyguard although it was a good thing I let you come along with us. To protect her from herself,' she added with a faint smile.

'My companion's name is Fenris and he is my best friend,' Hawke said resolute though it sounded rather crossly.

For a moment Fenris was at a loss._ Best friend? She considered him her best friend? When did that happen?_

'Please Fenris sit down, don't keep standing like some kind of servant. Your cover is blown anyway and I promise I'll behave like a good girl from now on. And how did you find out he isn't my bodyguard?' she turned to Wynne while Fenris took the seat next to her.

The mage chortled softly. 'The looks you threw at each other gave you away, they spoke volumes. You don't have to explain your relationship but I'm pretty sure being or having a bodyguard has nothing to do with it.'

_Damn. Is it that obvious? Be careful, Marian Hawke, beware of the dwarf and his witty pen, he sees all._ _Wait ... at each other? No, not at this time you twat. Later._

She cleared her throat. 'I'd rather you tell me your story about my father instead of delving in our personal lives.'

'You are right. But promise me you won't go off again if you hear something you don't like.' Hawke's eyes told her she wouldn't make that promise but nevertheless Wynne soldiered on.

'Your father began to show signs of magic at a very young age.' _Evidently it runs in the family_, Hawke thought but kept her mouth shut. 'His parents arranged for a tutor but at the age of ten, they decided to send their son to the Circle after all because his powers had become too big for one teacher to handle. The Tevinter Circle of Magi of course differs completely from the other Circle's in Thedas.' Hawke heard Fenris snort with contempt but Wynne paid no heed to his reaction. 'It's better to compare the Circle in Minrathous to a university instead of a prison as is the case in Kirkwall nowadays.' She casted a brief glance at the Gallows through the window and gave out a slight sigh. 'It wasn't always like this over here. And I suppose the Fereldan Circle is something in between, but that's not important right now.

Your father turned out to be a brilliant student and it didn't take long before the mightiest of the Magisters lined up to ask him to become their apprentice. He turned them all down.'

Hawke raised her brows. 'Are you trying to tell that not only he was not a Magister himself, he even refused to work with one? Why?'

'Because he rejected bloodmagic, he loathed it as a matter of fact. And as you know all Tevinter Magisters use it.'

'Tell me about it,' Fenris murmured. He shot a sidelong glance at Hawke. In the city of the Black Divine her father had despised bloodmagic? Remarkable, to say the least of it. Had she known about this? She must have. She hadn't mentioned it but then again she hadn't talked much about her father, if at all. _And what the hell had that mage meant with those looks being thrown at each other? This was already a difficult conversation, no need to add more problems._

'He preferred to continue his studies at the Circle. He specialized in runes, especially the protective ones. You didn't know?' Wynne asked when she saw Hawke's surprised expression.

'No I didn't, I don't recall he ever talked about runes, well not in another way than that they were useful objects. You mean he made them?' She noticed the short glance Wynne and Berran exchanged; she thought she read some disappointment in it but couldn't tell why.

'Not exactly,' Wynne said, 'he designed the runes and invented the spells to enchant them with but it took a very skilled runesmith to actual create them and work them into a piece of armour or a weapon. It was a very difficult and intricate process.'

'You speak as if you have witnessed it yourself,' Hawke observed.

'I'll come to that. The Tevinter Circle held Malcolm Hawke in high esteem and he was much respected. Besides that they profited greatly from his talent because everyone who counted in Tevinter wanted to buy his runes and the Circle received a part of the payment. Therefore it was quite a blow when he suddenly disappeared.'

'Disappeared?' Hawke echoed frowning, 'what do you mean? Did he get kidnapped by some greedy Magister? Did he run away? But why would he do that if he liked it in the Circle?'

'He popped up at the Fereldan Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad, miss Impatience. Irving had just become the First Enchanter at that time and Malcolm told him he had enough of the way magic was used in Tevinter. And that he got stuck with his research there because they lacked the proper documentation. But one way or another I've always had the feeling there was more to it.'

'And he came to Ferelden because he was born there,' Hawke assumed, 'I have to wonder why he didn't became an apostate. Why go directly from one Circle to another?'

'Because his studies about runes were too important for him as I discovered later. And he went to Ferelden not just because he was born in the country. You grew up there yourself, didn't you? So you know that the attitude towards magic in Ferelden is fairly mild, compared to the rest of Thedas. He knew he would have some kind of freedom there. So he settled in and within no time he astounded us all with his abilities. Yes, I knew him personally, of course I did. And I was in awe of him, we all were. I confess I even was somewhat infatuated with him. He was a very handsome man with a gentle, cheerful character and a wonderful sense of humour. It was impossible not to love him.' She smiled at the memory.

Hawke mimicked her smile though a little sadly. 'That is certainly true,' she said softly.

'After a few years he was sent to Kirkwall to give a guest lecture about the art of enchanting runes and there he vanished again. Entirely this time.'

'He fell in love,' Marian said with a sigh but it wasn't uttered out of tender feelings. Sorrow had more to do with it.

'That much we understood, since the daughter of one of the most prominent noble families in Kirkwall disappeared with him. But despite the fact many people looked for them for a long time they were never found._' Except for – don't_. 'Apparently the power of love is greater than any kind of ambition.' Wynne paused for a few moments as if lost in some kind of veiled memory but then went on. 'Let's put the romance aside, we still don't know if that has anything to do with all of it. He left no trail but finally I discovered what happened.'

Hawke felt her stomach knit together; she could easily guess what would come next if Wynne went on with this personal history lesson. She wanted to stop her, she wasn't sure she would be able to cope with her inevitable next words.

'About a year ago I found out he had actually married Leandra Amell and had settled down with her and their children in the small town of Lothering.' _Don't say it don't say it fuck you_ 'And I learned that he had been murdered not long before. I am truly sorry about that.'

Even though she had been prepared for this remark, Hawke cringed and the imprisoned memories broke out of their so minutely secured spot in her head before she got the chance to hold them off. She pressed her fingers against her brow to push them back into place.

'Murdered?' Fenris let slip in alarm, 'but you said -'

'I know what I said, alright!' Hawke snapped. She looked down at the desk, forcefully biting back tears of pain and anger and frustration. She was annoyed with herself; she had seen this coming and still she couldn't control herself. She reacted silly and immature and lashing out at Fenris was the stupidest reaction of all. 'I'm sorry,' she croaked, 'I lied. I just couldn't ...'

'No need to apologize, Hawke. I understand.' How could he blame her for not telling this? He still kept his own secrets up his sleeve because it was so damn hard to talk about. Seeing how shaken she looked, he understood that she was more upset about how her father had died than about his death itself, that much was clear to him. It must have been an awful occurrence. No wonder then she had hesitated and had called it an accident. He laid his hand upon hers and squeezed reassuringly, careful not to puncture her leather gloves with his steel spikes. _Yes, another touch and I dare you to comment upon it_, he taunted the little voice in his head. There was no response. There hadn't been a voice to start with. Had he really became so used to her that he automatically reached out when he sensed she needed him? He couldn't decide if that was good or disturbing.

'Would you like something to drink, Serah Hawke?' Wynne sounded worried but Hawke shook her head. She took a deep breath and gestured vaguely at the mage.

'Please continue. We're not here to mourn over my father's death.' Fenris let go of her hand and she gave him a short but such warm and grateful smile, filled with unshed tears and framed with unspeakable hurt that his breath hitched in his throat. He was definitely not the only one with painful recollections; perhaps now he finally could muster the courage to confess his secrets.

Wynne still looked at her with concern but Malcolm's spitfire seemed to be her own self again, her not fuming, raging and yelling self that is. Not that much of a spitfire at this moment. She decided not to press on with the consideration. She feared it would only ignite a tempest and wake up that side of her character she never had discovered in her father.

'As you wish,' she said as neutral as she could manage.

Hawke raised her hand. 'Wait. How did you find out?' Her voice still sounded a bit rough but she visibly had regained a grip on herself.

'By chance to be honest. I was one of the companions of the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight and so was Leliana. I understand you knew each other. She told me what happened in Lothering.'

'Leliana!' Hawke cried out in surprise, 'Yes, I knew her very well. She was a lay sister at the Chantry.'

'She turned out to be a lot more than that.'

'I can belief that. She taught me some amazing dagger tricks. Had a lovely singing voice too.' Her face clouded over once more. 'But that's not why we are here for. Just – carry on.'

'Very well. When I had learned Malcolm was dead I went through his belongings we had been keeping in storage after his disappearance. And so I came across his notes. Irving had looked into them when his room was cleaned out but never got the time to pay them the attention the deserved. It turned out no one had which was a pity really. I found very interesting facts. For starters your father's interest appeared to concentrate mostly on protection. We knew of course that he had mainly given attention to protective runes but never comprehended how deep that passion ran. He wanted to safeguard the world from black magic and the mages from demons and to accomplish that he developed his infamous runes, as a kind of aid. That at least explained why he had been so eager to get away from Tevinter. I suppose no one there would applaud that endeavour.'

'I can vouch for that,' Fenris said grimly. He couldn't deny that his admiration for this Malcolm Hawke grew, mage or not.

'Hitherto I could follow but then things got strange. Suddenly he started to use code language. As far as I was able to figure out, that happened shortly after he arrived at the Fereldan Circle. I couldn't make any sense of it, how hard I tried. I involved the other senior members of the Circle but none of us were able to crack that code. We didn't understand; he never had been very talkative about what he was working at but we assumed that was because no one grasped what he was doing. It was too technical and too complex. So why this sudden mysteriousness? We were afraid he had found or invented something dangerous, and knowing how powerful his magic was, it could be something that would put the whole world at risk.'

'That doesn't fit with your earlier description of my father's nature,' Hawke objected, 'and absolutely not with the man I knew.'

'I'm well aware of that, Serah Hawke. Malcolm wanted to protect the world, not endanger it. At least that's what we always believed. But what if we had been wrong? What if he had deceived us and developed his enchanted runes under the cloak of protection but in fact was searching for some kind of secret weapon?'

'He could have stayed in Tevinter for that, no need to come to Ferelden.' Hawke started to get angry again.

'He could have been a spy,' Berran put in a word.

'That is delusional bullshit,' Hawke shouted heatedly.

'I would have put it differently but I incline to agree,' Wynne said.

'And you!' she turned to the mage. 'First you praise him like some kind of saint and now you insinuate he is a terrorist. Make up your mind!'

'I never suggested he was a terrorist, far from that. But you must understand we couldn't take any risk. After all, none of us knew him very well. Try to comprehend I implore you, Serah Hawke. Out of the blue a mage from Tevinter turns up at the gates of our Tower, almost as if to ask for some kind of refuge which is quite perplexing to use a big understatement.'

'Suspicious would be a better term,' the Seeker muttered. Wynne shot him an irritably look and he backed down. Fenris couldn't fight off the impression that between the mage and the Seeker, Wynne was the one in charge and he was highly surprised he found it amusing.

'He reveals little to nothing about himself,' Wynne continued, 'he suddenly vanishes in Kirkwall and then I find this incomprehensible notes. It all gives the impression he had been hiding something all the time. Something important. And since he never talked about it, is it that strange to suspect it is something dangerous? I don't claim he had malevolent intensions. I still give him the benefit of the doubt and will keep doing so unless the opposite is fully proved. But it is well possible that during his studies and investigations he came across something too big to handle. And I may not have known Malcolm that well but well enough to expect him to be so stubborn or maybe proud to want to solve it on his own.'

Fenris smiled inwardly. If that were true, Hawke definitely inherited that trait.

'Before he died, he could have passed his findings on to someone else, someone who could do good with it – or evil. So after careful consideration we decided to call in the Seekers. That was shortly after the Blight was over and I had returned to the Circle.'

'Let me guess, you couldn't break the code either,' Hawke said sarcastically to the Seeker, 'but then again, I suppose it's far easier to break people than a secret language.'

'Take care, Hawke,' Fenris whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Berran shot her a very ominous look but she wasn't impressed.

'We are still working at it,' he said darkly, 'but in the meantime we thought it useful to search for Malcolm Hawke's family and especially his children. With such a powerful father, it seemed unlikely that none of them were a mage.' _Shit. In all the excitement I've forgotten about that._ 'We hoped that he had shared his secrets with his offspring, if only to secure his heritage. But the turmoil that the Blight had caused in Ferelden made our task very arduous. It took us almost a year to track you down.'

'And when you finally did, you immediately started to blunder,' Hawke said maliciously. 'I still don't see why you couldn't just look me up in a normal way and explain all this over a pint.'

The Seeker put his hands on the desk and leaned over to her.

'Do you still not get it? Or do you pretend not to? Whether you like it or not, your father could have been in the possession of something extremely perilous; a terrifying weapon, deadly knowledge, you name it. If any of that would leak out, it could not only cause panic among the public and hazard our investigations, but also alarm the Tevinters. Or do you think they have forgotten all about Malcolm Hawke? Just as Wynne I'm not convinced he was a spy although I'm not willing to leave that thought so easily. It could be he was searching for some piece of information that was only available in Fereldan. On the other hand I have reasons to believe he fled Tevinter because of something important he apparently didn't want them to know about. And take it from me, the Tevinters will chase you more viciously than we if they ever get wind of your existence. We have our own spies in Minrathous, Serah Hawke and thus we know they are still looking for your father. The only reason they didn't find him while he was still alive is because they are too arrogant to think one of their mages would submit to another Circle in Thedas. Maker be praised they don't know he's dead – yet. Anyhow, they are not looking for him without a reason. And of course they know we have people stationed in Minrathous so all this searching could turn out to be only one big trick to cover you father's findings.'

_Maker's breath! How paranoid can someone get!_

'No, things didn't go as we planned and yes we made mistakes but then again, I never encountered someone as resilient, shrewd and hard to catch as you.' At this point Fenris and Wynne shared a glance and both tried very hard not to grin. 'And may I remind you of the fact we Seekers are not used to act this way?'

'No. Usually you do as you please. Hauling people out of their beds in the dead of night without a warrant, not being answerable for your deeds under the cover of security, denying the authority of the Chantry, even of the Divine herself. Next time you better come prepared,' Hawke said dryly but with a menacing undertone. The more Berran had been raising his voice, the calmer she felt. By now she was almost convinced he knew nothing about her being a mage and that if he knew, he wouldn't care, at least not at this point. Other more important things were at stake. 'You should have aimed at my brother. Oops, I forgot. You did. I hope for your own sake he is alive and well otherwise the consequences could be very bothersome. For you that is to say.'

Berran thumped the desk. 'Don't be mistaken Serah Hawke, we had both of you followed the moment after we arrived in this city and learned where you lived and we very soon found out your brother was definitely not a mage.' A pang of fear sprang up in her chest. The Seeker looked at her intently. 'We only took your brother to get to you because the other methods failed. He is unscathed, except for a dent in his pride I suppose. We had high hopes you would be Malcolm's child with the magical talent. I still cannot decide if you are a mage or not. If so, you are very skilled in concealing it but there is positively something strange about you.'

'My sister was a mage. She got crushed by an ogre when we were trying to flee the Blight. You can always try to interrogate her in the Veil. Or beyond. Or in Heaven. Or whatever you belief in or can reach.'

'I think you're not taking this seriously, Serah,' Berran hissed indignantly.

'On the contrary,' Hawke sighed, 'but give a girl a break. Have you any idea how much of uninvited and unwanted information I've got shot at me for the last hour? You might have known all about it, I didn't. All the time I was under the impression you were after my life although I couldn't fathom why and in the end all the excitement turns out to be about my father.' She released a deep breath. 'I appreciate very well how important this all is and I'm deeply sorry I can't provide you with useful information. I promise however I will think it all over and try to remember anything my father ever mentioned to me that could help you. Is that a deal?'

Berran glared at her but Wynne said, 'I consider that a deal.' She turned to the Seeker. 'I don't think it is useful to continue this conversation. I suggest we let Carver Hawke go and arrange another gathering in a few days. In the normal way.'

'She means with a message, simply delivered at the Hanged Man or my house,' Hawke explained helpfully. 'By the way, my offer for a pick nick somewhere around the Wounded Coast or Sundermount still stands.'

'Don't push your luck, Serah Hawke,' the Seeker said in a threatening voice.

'I try not to,' she replied while she rose at the same time as Fenris. She nodded at Wynne.

'I hope there will come an occasion when we can talk about your contribution to end the Blight.'

Wynne smiled. 'I hope the same. Your brother will be dropped off at the Hanged Man as soon as possible. As Berran already assured no harm has done to him.'

'I never feared for that. After all it was me you wanted, not him. But nevertheless, thank you for keeping him safe. Like I said I will try to remember anything of import and undoubtedly I'll have some questions myself that for the moment have slipped my mind.' She looked at the Seeker. 'I can't say it was a pleasure but at least it was interesting to finally meet the person who contributed so generously at the death rate in Kirkwall.' Before he could react she turned and walked out.

* * *

'She may not be a mage but she is dangerous,' Berran stated after Hawke and Fenris had left the room, escorted by one of the guards.

'Sooner very intelligent, perceptive and tongue-lashing.'

'Like I said, dangerous. You really couldn't perceive any magical powers?'

'None at all. But she is Malcolm Hawke's daughter. I can't be certain. It is a great disappointment she doesn't know anything about his plans, if he had any in the first place.'

'Stop defending him. Even you recognize the potential danger, otherwise you wouldn't have turned to us. And I'm not convinced at all Marian Hawke doesn't know anything. But in time we will find out,' he added balefully. Wynne just sighed and shook her head.

* * *

Halfway the large space they had to cross to reach the entrance of the storehouse, Hawke's knees almost buckled. Carver would be set free, she wasn't recognized as a mage and pulled off to the Gallows or worse. That was an enormous relief. But at the same time all the things she had heard about her father and how much that had affected her started to take their toll. She felt Fenris's presence next to her and knew she owed him some explanations. He wouldn't ask for it, she was certain about that, but it was time he knew about her past.

'We have to talk,' she told him hoarsely.

'Yes,' he simply agreed. Maybe it _was_ time to come clear, for the both of them. Their companions came to life when they showed up but Hawke just marched past them, her face a stony mask.

'Hawke, what did they do to you?!' Anders cried out and tried to catch her arm.

'Not now,' she growled, slapping him off, 'later. Not now. And don't follow.' She grabbed Fenris's hand and headed for the exit of the storehouse. She stopped for a moment after they had reached the quay outside as if to decide what to do next.

'Let's go to the Wounded Coast. There we can be alone.' It sounded more as a demand than a suggestion but Fenris didn't object.

They kept on walking until they reached a little beach covered with pebbles. There Hawke flopped down and Fenris followed her example. For a long time they just sat side by side, staring into the distance, looking at the movements of the waves, occupied by their own thoughts.

'My father's death had nothing to do with what we have been told back there,' Hawke suddenly broke the silence. After some hesitation she added, 'He wasn't just murdered, he was butchered. By a Templar.'

Fenris turned his head to her. Her expression was strained. She tried to look neutral but she couldn't fool him. She picked up a pebble and threw it in the water. The small stone got followed by another one before she pulled up her legs and folded her arms around them. 'He came from Kirkwall, the Templar I mean. He had been my father's personal guard over there and apparently never had been able to stomach the fact he slipped through his fingers. I belief he had been severely punished for that but then again ...' She let out a sardonic snort. 'Of all the people searching for my father he had to be the one to find him. It took him more than eighteen years.' She bit her lip. 'I suppose after all that time my parents weren't that attentive anymore. We had to be careful of course and look out for local Templars. But as Wynne already mentioned, Ferelden has a mild attitude towards mages and as long as we didn't attract too much attention they turned a blind eye. Besides that my father practised as a physician in Lothering and thus he treated their injuries and delivered their children. I didn't teach myself, he did. That was another lie.'

'I don't consider that lying,' Fenris said softly. Hawke grimaced.

'Anyway, some night the bastard and four others burst into our house. Luckily Bethany managed to get away without being seen otherwise I think we'd all be killed. They drove us together in the living room and there ...' She pressed her lips and swallowed. 'They raped me before the very eyes of my parents and my brother and after they were done with me they gutted my father. Literally I mean.' She hung her head and fidgeted with her fingers. 'All that time I wasn't able to do anything. I was paralysed. I should have fought, I should have used my magic but I did nothing. Nothing.' Her voice was just a whisper by now. 'My mother was screaming, Carver tried to break free from the men that kept him in their clasp and got his arm dislocated and I did nothing.' She took a shaky breath. 'I remember our own Templars storming in followed by half of the village. I remember the commotion, people shouting and crying, other people talking to me. And I just sat there, completely numb, looking at it all as if I was no part of it.' She fell silent and stared at the pebbles around her feet.

Fenris didn't know what to say. In a sudden impulse he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and held on to his frame as if he was a lifeline.

'I'm sorry,' she murmured.

'For what exactly?'

'For losing it. It has been two years now and still I become a wreck when someone even hints at his death. I'm too sensitive about it. I'm certain you have experienced much worse things.'

He tightened his grip. 'No Marian, don't say that. It must horrible to lose someone dear to you like that. You don't have to be sorry for anything.'

She didn't reply, he just felt a slight shiver going through her body. They kept motionless for a long time, their arms thrown around each other, neither of them uttering a word.

Only much later she realized he had called her Marian instead of Hawke.

* * *

**A bit dramatic perhaps, but I thought it would explain why Hawke is so fervent about protecting her family, what rests of them of course.**

**By the way, I never understood why Hawke and Leliana didn't know each other, they lived in the same small village for years!**

**And as always, thank you for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A warning in advance: if you don't like smut, skip the last part of this chapter (but as I mentioned before, M rated and all that)**

**I hope you'll enjoy ..!**

* * *

Chapter 12

For a long time they just sat on the beach. Marian had removed her gloves and Fenris his gauntlets and pauldrons to prevent she got stabbed by the spikes. Without uttering a word he had again laid his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him, her legs tucked under her. They listened to the screeches of the gulls and the murmur of the sea; they looked at the waves lapping on the beach and the slowly sinking sun. Fenris couldn't exactly define how he felt. He was moved by her story, that was for sure. Moved by what she had had to endure and the fact she trusted him enough to tell him. But slowly other emotions bubbled up to the surface; holding her like this, feeling her warm presence leaning against him, sharing this silent intimacy; it gave him a feeling of absolute peace. As far as he knew he had never experienced something like this in his life. For the first time he could remember he was not tense. He allowed himself to get soaked with this bliss, this simple and pure contentment. The smell of rosemary mixed with salt and sun. The warmth and softness of someone who felt so comfortable with him she put her arm around him, someone _he_ felt so comfortable with he did the same with her. It enthralled him. He wanted to drown in this, never to wake up.

'What about your family? Are they still alive?'

Fenris almost started at the sound of her voice. Yes, of course, paradise wouldn't last forever. And this time he couldn't avoid the answer like he had done before. 'I don't know,' he confessed.

'You don't know?' He could almost feel her frown. 'Well, you have been away for a long time I assume. But haven't you received any massage or note –' _ah yes, another secret_

'Almost three years by now,' he interrupted her, 'but that is not the problem. I ... I have lost my memory. I don't know anything about having a family.'

She immediately got alert and sat straight. 'What do you mean?'

He hesitated but nevertheless went on. 'These markings ...' he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, 'the pain it caused me to create them was unimaginable. I tried to hold on but in the end lost my conscience. And when I finally came round again, I couldn't remember a thing. Not even my own name. "Fenris" means "Little Wolf", a name Danarius came up with.'

Marian stayed silence for a time, fastening her hold on him. 'I'm so sorry,' she at last said. He tensed, his usual state of mind. He removed his arm. 'I don't want your pity, Hawke,' he warned her with a snarl.

She recoiled and moved away from him. _You proud and touchy elf_. 'I'm aware of that, I don't want yours either,' she said. 'But what did you expect me to say? "Good for you?" Or, "ever thought about memory training?" It seems horrible to me, not knowing who you were, not even knowing your own name. But perhaps I better keep my mouth shut if you can't see the difference between pity and empathy.'

At first Fenris wanted to jump up and run off. But then her words kicked in. He bowed his head and inwardly chastised himself. Idiot he was, reacting as if he got attacked. Some instincts were extremely hard to defeat. She was right. She showed empathy, not pity. Remorsefully he took her hand. 'Forgive me, I should have known better.' Marian shook her head. 'It's not your fault. Whatever you have been taught, it's not about normal human feelings. That much is clear to me.'

Not a week ago he would have become enraged with such a remark. Now he reclaimed her shoulder and buried his face in her hair. 'I'm afraid not,' he breathed. He wondered what had happened to keeping his distance. Somewhere things had taken a whole – different turn. Was it when he discovered she was a mage who would never summon a demon, who would never abuse his lyrium markings? No, if he was honest with himself he didn't care anymore she was a mage, even not if she'd be one who did depend on mana. He remembered the look she had given him in that warehouse at the Docks. It had shaken him to the core. And after that she had deemed him reliable enough to trust him with her terrible secret. Now here he was, holding her as if it was the most normal thing in the world. She might not have pulled down his inner walls but somehow she had found a way in. And he hadn't been able to stop her. He didn't even want to any longer. He had to tell her more about his past and he would but he decided that would be for another time. For now he wanted to hold on to this foreign but wondrous feeling of peace and calm, to the warmth that spread from his stomach through the rest of his body, all because of her.

'I suppose I'll have to check on Carver, to make certain he is indeed unharmed,' Hawke finally said. She didn't really want to do that, she wanted to stay here with Fenris, but she had to.

'Yes, you should do that,' he admitted and reluctantly let go of her. But before she could get up he cupped her face. 'Thank you for sharing.' She smiled wanly. 'You are the first I ever told.'

'There are more things I must tell you but –'

'Sh. All in your own time, Fenris. No need to push yourself.'

All thoughts fled and slowly he pulled her closer.

'There you are!' a deep baritone boomed over the little beach, 'did you really have to hide this far from civilisation?!'

They both jumped up in a shock reaction and saw Varric trail down the path, closely followed by Anders.

'Damn it dwarf, I told you I didn't want to be followed!' Hawke snarled angrily, 'I feel very much like wringing your neck right now.'

'I can imagine that,' Varric beamed, after all he had interrupted an almost kiss. He noticed Fenris had immediately positioned himself in front of Hawke to protect her, a scowl on his face. His menacing sword still lay on the pebbles, next to Hawke's daggers, but the elf didn't need a weapon to be deadly. Varric raised his hands. 'No need to get aggressive here. We came to tell that Junior has been delivered at the Hanged Man as a neat parcel and since your mother found out he had been kidnapped, she is in such a state she's about to start a riot. She wants valid answers to her furious questions. If you don't return this instant, the situation will become untenable.'

Marian groaned loudly. 'Let's go then and face her wrath.' She caught the incensed glare Anders threw at Fenris but paid it no heed. He could stew in his own juice as far as she was concerned. She and Fenris gathered their gear and followed the dwarf and fuming mage back to the city. She shot the elf a sidelong glance. He answered with a little enigmatic smile that made her heart race.

* * *

'You have a lot to explain young lady.' Leandra pointed an accusing finger at her daughter. 'How could you put your brother in such danger!' They had hardly passed the door of Varric's suite before she started her livid rant. Hawke saw Isabela leaning against the wall behind her mother, making faces. Aveline looked exhausted as if she had been trying for hours to calm down Leandra and it had cost all of her stamina. Carver, the subject of their mother's commotion leaned back in his chair with a bored expression on his face.

'I already told you a hundred times, Mother, I was never in danger.'

'You were abducted!' Leandra cried out, 'of course you were in danger!' She turned to Marian. 'And all because of you,' she bit viciously, 'just as it is your fault I have to stay in this cesspit of a place.'

Behind her Marian heard Fenris sharply take in breath. 'If you wish you can go home now, Mother,' she said before the elf could burst out, 'it is safe again. And you may belief it or not, this whole ordeal had nothing to do with me.'

Leandra glared daggers at her. 'I would be highly surprised. You always manage to get in all sorts of trouble and to drag you poor little brother into it.'

'I can take care of myself, Mother,' Carver said tetchily, 'I don't need a big sister to look after me.'

'We have seen that,' Leandra hissed.

'I take it you have been treated properly?' Hawke informed, trying very hard not to take offence of her mother's words. Carver shrugged. 'They didn't lay a finger on me. They didn't even handcuff me.'

'That's a pity,' Hawke heard Isabela murmur and she had difficulty with keeping her face straight.

'Can I offer you a glass of Antivan brandy, madam?' Varric who had headed directly to his liquor cabinet already held a bottle in his hand. 'It's a terrific medicine against nerves. And hysterics,' he added as good as inaudible.

'I never drink strong alcohol,' Leandra stated haughtily.' 'That explains a lot,' Varric mumbled. 'And if this mess has nothing to do with you, what _was_ it all about?' Leandra demanded to know.

'I'd rather discuss that in private,' Hawke said, 'it's a personal matter. Go home, Mother, I will follow shortly.' Leandra shot her a venomous look before she swept out of the room. After she had left, Marian slumped into the first chair she could reach. 'You can pour me a brandy,' she sighed, 'Maker knows I could use one.'

'Care to reveal the mystery?' Carver said sarcastically, 'or is your poor little brother not worth to hear it?'

'That was not my choice of words, Carver.'

'I don't blame you but it stings nevertheless. I fought at Ostagar damn it! When will she ever learn that I'm old enough to -'

'Yes, Junior, we all sympathise with you but right now we're dying to hear what happened in that warehouse,' Varric cut him short, 'come on, Hawke, enlighten us. You walked out of there with a face so stern, you could break rock on it.'

'It's was about Father.'

'_Father?_ How can anything have to with _him_? He is ...' Carver's voice faltered, he shared his sister's bad memories after all. Marian reached for her glass but remembered what happened the last time she drank Antivan brandy, so she just took a small sip. 'I thought it not a good idea to mention this to Mother while she was in that raging state of mind. I will have to ask her some questions but I better wait till she has calmed down.' She looked around at the expectant faces. 'Before I'm going to tell you anything however, I want you all to swear nothing of it will leave this room.'

'You can rely on that,' Isabela said, 'even on my behalf. I don't want the Seekers at my tail. Or your fury as a matter of fact.'

Marian cocked an eyebrow at her. 'You can bet I'll bite your ass off if you'll even breathe one word to someone who is not present here.'

After she had finished explaining, withholding the part of her past of course, Carver said, 'Well, who would have thought Father has been that important the Seekers are after him even now.'

'It came as a great surprise to me also.' Marian stood before everyone started asking questions at the same time. 'I think I'm going to talk to Mother now. I hope she's in a better mood.' She turned to Fenris. 'See you tomorrow?' she asked softly, not more than a movement of her lips. He just nodded.

* * *

Hawke found her mother sitting at the table, drinking tea. She looked up at her daughter and Hawke noticed she wore a somewhat sad expression.

'Marian, I'm ... sorry I yelled at you previously. But I had been through so much and I was worried.'

'It's all right Mother, I understand.' She sat down and Leandra poured her a cup of tea. 'Did Father ever tell you about his work and studies at the Circles in Tevinter and Ferelden?'

Leandra looked taken aback. 'Are you trying to tell me this was all about your father?'

'Yes. Apparently he was labouring on something very secret and now the Seekers want to know what.' And again she repeated what had transpired. Her mother listened intently but then shook her head.

'I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. Malcolm never told me anything about what he had been doing in the Circles. This is all new for me.'

Marian hadn't expected anything else but she didn't want to let it go that easily. 'There is nothing you remember as odd in all the time you were together? Something about runes, about protection?'

Leandra went to the fire to boil some more water for tea. 'Runes definitely not,' she thought aloud, 'but protection ...' Hawke waited impatiently, trying not to rush her. 'Well, I remember that when he discovered you were a mage he said something about protecting you.'

Hawke let out the air she wasn't aware she had been holding in. This was obvious; of course her father had wanted to protect her, against the Templars and against herself. She felt suddenly very tired and a headache was throbbing behind her eyes. Her mother's next words only partly got through to her. 'He mentioned some kind of experimental method he was willing to use to keep you safe. Strangely he never talked about it after Bethany also turned out to be a mage. In fact he never talked about it again.'

Marian pinched the bridge of her nose. 'I think I'm going to bed,' she said while she got up, 'it has been a rather – exciting day.'

'You do that. After a good night's sleep things will look al lot brighter.'

Afterwards Hawke blamed her fatigue for her inadequate reaction.

* * *

Somewhere halfway the night she woke with a start. Only now the words of her mother hit her with the force of a battering ram. _Experimental method, something to keep her safe._ Maker! What had her father done with her, to her? And why? Had it something to do with the Fade? What if she ... Without thinking she leaped out of bed. She didn't even take the time to get dressed. She just threw a cloak around her nightshirt and slipped on a pair of shoes. She darted out of the house and ran to Fenris's mansion as fast as she could. For a few moments she halted at his door to catch her breath, then she got in and climbed the stairs. He didn't look surprised at all.

'It seems we are developing several kinds of habits,' he smirked, 'you feeding me, I making coffee for you and this crashing into my mansion in the dead of night.' But then he saw the expression of panic on her face. 'What's wrong? Your mother again?'

'No, not my mother. Or yes. Something she said.' She still panted and her eyes were wide.

'Please, calm down and tell me what happened.'

She kicked off her shoes and threw the cloak over a chair. Fenris couldn't help noticing her long slender legs under her short nightdress. She started to pace and made a heroic effort to clear her head but hardly succeeded. 'She said something about an experiment my father tried on me. To keep me safe.'

'What kind of experiment?' He was eyeing her with growing concern.

'I don't know! But what if it has something to do with mana? What if it is just blocked by some trick? What if I'm a normal mage and don't know about it?'

'Hawke, stop that.' He noticed she was trembling and feared she was working herself up into some kind of fit.

'What will happen if whatever he did starts to wear of? Will demons suddenly pounce upon me? Will I be able to fight them off?'

'Hawke!'

'I could be some kind of fraud! What if I –'

He grabbed her arms in half-stride. 'Marian please don't.' She flinched. 'You're going off. Take a deep breath.' She tried to suppress the shuddering. 'You're uttering all kinds of wild assumptions. Don't you think it's far more plausible that experiment is about you teaching a different way of using magic because you are no normal mage?'

She wasn't convinced. 'But what about that keeping me safe?'

'You told me yourself you could use the energy in the world but that it was very unadvisable because of the consequences. It seems to me that was reason enough for your father to worry about your safety.'

She looked quite desperate. 'I don't know,' she said in a very small voice, 'I don't know what I am anymore. Can I still trust myself? Do you trust me?'

He rested his forehead against hers.

'Yes,' he said quietly. His arms moved to circle around her frame. His lips brushed hers, lightly as the touch of butterfly wings. 'I trust you,' he whispered. His mouth moved to her eyelids and he kissed them. 'I have never trust anyone.' He kissed her brow, her cheeks. 'Only you.'

She hardly dared to breathe when he searched her lips again. They parted as on a will of their own and she felt his tongue hesitantly find its way in. She welcomed him and slowly they started to explore each other's mouths. Heated bolts ran through her body and she whimpered. He pulled her close to him when their kiss got drenched with passion. She reacted excitedly, going with him in the heat of the moment, even adding more fever. Her anxiousness had dissolved, she'd forgotten completely why she was here in the first place. She embraced him hard, clutching his frame as if she wasn't able to stand on her own feet which was pretty much the truth. His hands started wandering over her body. He caressed her shoulders, her back, her curves. He gripped her behind and pulled her yet firmer to his hips. She moaned into his mouth and was forced to break away to take a gulp of air.

'What are we doing,' he said breathless.

'I belief it's called kissing. I rather like it, don't you?' Without waiting for an answer she reclaimed his lips. He responded hungrily, discovering her mouth once more, letting his tongue twist around hers, tasting her, feeling her. His fingers entwined with her hair, his arm snaked around her waist. He felt her breasts pressed against his chest.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' Fenris panted when they were forced to take another breath.

'Should I moan louder? Yes, I want to do this you daft elf!'

He lifted her and carried her to his bed were he laid her down. Not being able to hold back any longer, he let his hands slip under her nightdress, feeling her naked skin and with a flare of impatience he ripped the threadbare fabric apart. It tore with a satisfying sound. He pinned her on the bed, still kissing her, straddling her. She groaned in his mouth, fervently holding on to his back. He broke the kiss to trace his lips down her jaw, her chin, her collarbone. He let his teeth sink into the crook of her shoulder, not vicious but almost tenderly, marking her. Then his mouth wandered over her throat, her shoulder, her upper arm, back to her throat and down to her soft but firm breasts. He caught a nipple between his lips, allowing his tongue to circle around the fast hardening pink peak. He enjoyed her reaction, she gasped and her hand clasped into his hair, encouraging him to continue.

'Fenris,' she breathed. _Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. I'm dreaming. I hope I never wake up._

His mouth descended along the tight plane of her stomach, planting kisses every inch of the way. Simultaneously his hand stroked her inner thigh, slowly moving upwards, making her tighten her body, burning with expectation. He removed her smalls and his fingers found the moist core between her legs, he feathered lightly over her folds. Hawke groaned and arched her back. He smiled silently when the tip of his tongue lightly touched the sensitive nub hidden above her folds, anticipating her reaction. She twisted in surprise, letting out her breath in a hard blow. He started licking and nibbling her, drawing his tongue over her swollen lower lips and back to her o so responsive spot. At the same time he pushed a finger into her already drenched centre.

'Fenris!' she squeaked.

She was reaching her peak, he could feel and taste it in her sweet wetness. He added a second finger and made his tongue work harder and faster. He felt her writhe and squirm in a reaction to his actions. She moved with his fingers and tongue, panting heavily, until her body shook and trembled when her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave. She screamed out his name, totally wrapped up in this overwhelming experience. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to her mouth.

'I want to feel you, I want you inside me,' she panted while she kissed him, tasting herself on his lips and tongue, 'please.' A request he was more than eager to obey.

He got rid of his leggings and smalls in a heartbeat and relieved his painfully pulsating member from the excruciating enclosing fabric of his clothes. In one desperate and passionate move he pushed his hard throbbing length inside her, burying himself into her inviting hot, soaked sheath. For one blessed moment they lay perfectly still, delighted with this feeling of wonderful connection. Then he started pounding and she answered his thrusts by moving her hips in a matching rhythm. She threw her legs around him, pushing him even further into her until he entirely filled her. He felled enchanted, his markings lighted up and added to his feeling of completion. Her second peak was more intense than the first, she couldn't even scream anymore, she just whimpered, almost losing her consciousness. It drove him over the cliff and he emptied himself deep into her wetness. He slumped onto her, struggling for air.

'Marian,' he whispered into her honey-coloured hair. After he had regained his breath, he slowly turned to his side, taking her with him in his arms, still connected with her. He kissed the top of her head, clasping his hand in her silken tresses.

'Fenris,' she answered softly, touching his lips with her fingertips. 'Thank you.'

He raised his brow. 'You are thanking _me_?' he asked incredulously, looking into her bright sapphire eyes. She smiled.

'For having confidence in me. For sharing yourself with me. For giving me the most wonderful feeling in my life.' He swallowed with difficulty. He wanted to tell her that he loved her but couldn't. Somehow he figured it didn't matter, that she already knew. He felt himself hardening inside her and moaned softly. She giggled in return.

'Oh my wolf, so eager,' she chortled. And that made him harden still more. She calling him wolf was strangely exciting. With an unexpected and swift movement she turned him on his back, stooping over him, resting her hands on his shoulders, her eyes filled with merriment and at the same time her pupils wide and dark with want. For him. Again. He inhaled sharply, looking wide-eyed at her. His Hawke, his bird of prey, desiring him.

'What am I going to do with you,' she said teasingly.

'Ravish me?' he suggested.

'Tempting,' she admitted and started moving slowly. He closed his eyes and grunted. She felt too good. His hands enfolded her breasts and caressed them. She responded by raising her tempo. Once again he felt himself melting into her hot, wet essence, concealed in the closed environment of her feminine walls. When she came for the third time she fell over him, letting her body collide with his while he again lost himself inside her, spurting his seed into her depth.

He kissed her tenderly when he finally left her body, she sighed on his lips at the loss. Once more he turned on his side, pulling her close to him, feeling her warmth, never wanting to leave her.

'Hmm, I think I don't want to wake up,' she murmured, settling herself as close to him as possible, 'I will die a happy woman after this. Unless of course you are willing to repeat this – er - exercise on the morrow. Then I'm keen to expand my lifetime somewhat more.' She chuckled softly, her warm breath wandering over his chest. He strengthened the hold of his arms around her.

'I live to please,' he retorted sleepily in her hair before they both drifted off.

* * *

An hour later he had completely other thoughts.

He got dragged out of his delight with memories before the time his markings had marred him. He heard a girlish voice, giggling with happiness. He was chasing a young girl with flaming red hair. _His sister_. She called after him, crying out his name with pleasure. _Leto_. And so did a woman with the same hair-colour as the girl, standing in an opened door. _His mother_. She reprimanded them, but there was a smile on her face. Affection radiated off of her face.

'_Oh please, let them, Arainia,' _a male voice chimed in_, 'they are young, let them have their innocent pleasure.'_

_His father._

He recognized them and the memory slipped from his grasp at the same time. He went rigged. He tried to hold on but wasn't able to. Despite the wonderful warm and beloved body he was spooned against, he drew back. This he couldn't' cope with. He sat up, not knowing what to do. His first impulse was to jump out of bed, take his meagre belongings and flee the city. But the sight of Marian's lovely sleeping form withheld him. She had changed him, made him aware of other feelings than hate and fear. He had come to care for her so much that he didn't want to part with her. He was certain that is was due to her or the feelings he harboured for her that this memories had reappeared. He didn't have a clue how to deal with that. He couldn't go through this torment every time they made love.

But if he'd leave her, Danarius would win. He was the one who had deprived him of his memories; in a sense Marian had given them back if only for the briefest of moments before they had dissolved again. If he'd leave her, Danarius would have taken even more from him than his past.

She stirred and opened her eyes. 'Hmm, is it morning already?' She turned to look at him and reached out to touch his body. Then she saw his face, the desperate expression in his eyes and alarmed she also got up. 'Fenris, what's wrong?'

'I recalled … my life before the markings … and then it slipped away,' he said with a suffocated voice.

A terrible suspicion clenched its tentacles around her heart. She tried to bring a smile on her face.

'Wasn't that what you wanted, having your memories back?' She sounded pleading and it hurt him.

'I don't have them back, they have vanished,' he whispered, 'how can I, can we ... when I know that some time later I will be trying to hold onto images that escape me the same moment?'

'I can help you with this,' she pressed, 'if your memories return again you just wake me up and share them with me before they fade. Or if you don't want me to know about them, you can write them down.'

He winced. His throat was screwed shut and he couldn't utter a word.

'You want to end it, don't you?' she said flatly. With the utmost exertion she fought back a sob. _Don't cry, you will only make it worse._ He didn't dare to look at her. 'Perhaps it's best if I go.' She started to get out of bed.

In a split-second he made the decision.

'No! Don't go. Please stay.' He grabbed her hand and pulled her close. _The bastard will not win. I will fight against him and for her. And myself. _'I don't want to lose you,' he said hoarsely, 'you ... you mean too much to me. I will find a way to handle this.'

Marian didn't dare to answer out of fear to break out in tears. She just held him, softly caressing him. Slowly he leaned back until they lay again, she with her head on his chest, their arms around each other.

'I don't know how to read,' he suddenly blurted out.

'What?' she asked confused.

'You suggested that I'd write down my memories before they faded again but I can't. Slaves aren't permitted to read and write.'

'Oh Fenris,' she said half laughing, half crying, 'of all of your problems this must be the least. I can teach you.'

'You will?'

'Of course I will. It won't be hard. You're an intelligent man; you'll get the hang of it in no time.'

Despite everything he had to smile. He felt her fall asleep once more. For a long time he listened to her calm breath, drinking in her delightful scent, feeling the soothing softness and warmth of her body. In the end he too drifted off, this time without being troubled by any images whatsoever.

* * *

**I know this differs completely from what happens in the game but then again, that counts for almost everything in this story ... I hope you forgive me!**


	13. Chapter 13

**I'm overwhelmed by your reactions on my last chapter. Thank you so very much! I can only hope I can meet your expectations this time ...**

* * *

Chapter 13

In the early morning some obscure figure crept through the door of a dilapidated mansion in the midst of the proud and thriving ones in the posh quarter of Hightown. He sneaked upstairs and entered the only used room in the ruined house. Not entirely surprised he stopped to take the picture in: Fenris lying on his back, his arms firmly curled around Hawke's frame; Hawke on her turn resting her head on his chest, one arm loosely draped over the elf's waist, one leg wrapped over his, both with a faint smile on their faces. He let his eyes feast on the glorious nudity of their bodies and grinned broadly. He only regretted he didn't bring his book and quill. He had to memorise this. His picked up the elf's heavy broadsword, standing on the weapon rack.

'Rivaini will turn green with envy when I tell her about this,' he murmured to himself, silently laughing up forehand with the prospect. That put aside, it was time to wake the sleeping beauties.

'Rise and shine my lovelies!' he bellowed and revelled in the reaction it caused. They both flew up, instinctively reaching for weapons that weren't there, realising at the same time they were naked and grabbing the blanket that had crumbled at their feet, covering themselves. They glared at him with a mix of panic and utmost fury.

'You, you,' Hawke stammered breathless, 'you, _dwarf_!'

"Ah, l' amour,' Varric sighed in his most sugared voice, 'lethal,' he let follow this far more ominous uttered word by showing Fenris's sword he held up by the hilt. He didn't have the strength to wield it and wondered again how the lanky elf managed. But he wanted to make a point. He shook his head and made a "tsk" sound. 'You should lock your door or hire some guards if you're paying only attention to one another instead of to safety. I could have finished you off just like that and so could have anyone else.'

'Yesterday I told you I would love to wring you neck, this time I'm really going to kill you,' Hawke threatened, not paying attention to his quite legitimate statement.

'With what?' Varric informed sweetly, 'I don't see any daggers lying around. Or will this be a case of "I have an elf and I'm not afraid to use him"? You can consider this payment for being forced to act like your messenger boy – again.' He dropped the sword that fell with a clanking sound on the tiles and removed a folded piece of parchment out of one of his pockets. He moved to the bed and put it into her hands. Hawke shot him a venomous glance before she refolded the vellum and let her eyes dart over the message.

'Apparently our dear Seeker is too impatient to wait another day,' she concluded, 'he wants a new appointment. At least he has learned. Just a message, no corpse or kidnapping.' She let her look glide to the dwarf. 'Not on his behalf,' she said portentously. 'Let's pack a pick nick basket.'

'You really do intent to drag him to the Wounded Coast?' Fenris asked. Just as she he wanted to strangle the dwarf who still wore that maddening smug smile but decided that could wait.

'Why not? I promised him, didn't I? I intent to keep my promises.' She thought for a few moments until she added, 'Perhaps it's wise to take Carver with us. After all it's also his father the fuss is about.' And turning back to Varric. 'Do me a favour and make yourself scarce before I change my mind and make minced meat of you after all.'

Varric bowed courteously. 'Before I take my leave, my beautiful heroine, I do hope you have taken precautions before your, er, amorous exercises,' he launched his last attack while retreating cautiously.

'What?' they both exclaimed in unison.

'Oh please, don't tell me I have to explain where the little children come from, you can't be that ignorant.' By now Varric had reached the door. 'On the other hand I can't wait to see the wonderful broody baby you will have created together.'

Fenris started to cough vehemently and Hawke reached for the first available missile that turned out, surprisingly, to be a book lying on the floor next to the bed and tossed it at Varric's head, missing him by an inch and hitting the doorpost instead. 'You insufferable piece of shit,' she screamed. The booming laugh of the dwarf trailed after him all the way down to the entrance of the mansion. She fell back on the pillows with a loud grunt.

'Bloody hell,' she cursed. Fenris stooped over her body, smiling vaguely.

'Did you?'

'Did I what?'

'Take precautions.'

'With the risk of disappointing you, yes I did. So no wonderful broody baby for you.'

He cocked one eyebrow. 'Were you so certain about what would happen or did you have other plans?'

She tapped his lovely straight elven nose lightly. 'Jealous already my love? As a matter of fact I've been taking those herbs since the day ... since that day. For weeks I was scared as hell that I would be pregnant. You never know what can happen, better safe than sorry.'

'Of course,' he said silently. He gently caressed her face, following with his fingertips the line of her eyebrows and cheekbones, the contour of her jaw down to her chin and up again over the rim of her ear. 'Do you want me to make coffee or provide for something else?'

She couldn't help let out a giggle. She put her arms around his wonderful muscled and at the same time lithe frame. 'You can provide me with you,' she said with a husky voice, smiling playfully. 'You claimed to be my bodyguard. So guard my body.' He chuckled lowly which sent a shiver down her innards and made her wet with want. He caught her lips in a soft nibbling kiss. 'How can I refuse such a request?'

'Hmm, keep up the good work,' she encouraged him, 'I love this.' She fastened her hold and he tenderly bit her lower lip before trailing his mouth down her throat and the crook of her shoulder. She hummed approvingly and pulled him upon her, drawing her hands over his arms and back. He nuzzled her neck while he planted a kiss on the spot just behind her ear where he could smell her desire for him. He inhaled deep to catch her intoxicating scent that fed his arousal. His hand wandered down her body, cupping a breast, letting his thumb and finger play with her nipple. He heard her breath change to panting. A moan escaped her and he sought her mouth again, seeking excess that she was more than willing to give. Their tongues danced in that intricate pattern that wove love and lust together. She spread her legs and moved her hips upwards to invite him and give him easy entrance. He let his fingers trace down to her wetness before he entered her body. Her breath hitched and she whispered his name. He groaned while he started to move inside her. She answered with a deep groan of her own; it aroused him even more. They started slow but it didn't take long before they picked up a rapid cadence. He felt her built up her release in the way she dug her fingers into his back and the tight clasping of her sheath. And then her body shuddered violently; she clung on to him while the feeling of being swept of the surface of the world almost overwhelmed her. He followed her not moments later, crying out her name. He embraced her hard, panting heavily.

When she was able to think once more, she became alert, the experience of the night before still very near.

'What about your memories?'

He was still trying to breathe again. 'Fuck my memories,' he stammered harshly, kissing her brow, leaning against it, 'you are much more important than those.' He meant it. He had made that decision earlier and he wouldn't go back on it. "I ...' he grasped her shoulders and looked into her shining sapphire eyes. 'I love you Marian Hawke. No force in the world can keep you from me.'

She almost choked, hiding her face in his shoulder. 'And I love you,' she whispered. Again he inhaled her wonderful scent, felt her breath whirling on his skin. He inhaled deeply.

'As long as I don't fall asleep afterwards, I don't think the memories will haunt me.'

Her fingers trailed down his chest. 'So that means morning sex. I can live with that.'

He grinned. 'What about that coffee? And you must think about the continence of that pick nick basket. We'd better get up and prepare for the upcoming renewed encounter with our Seeker.'

'Oh please, can we just forget about that and stay in bed for the rest of our lives?' She frowned suddenly. 'Shit. I have nothing to wear. Yes, yes, I know most women complain about that, but in this case it's literally. You shred my nightdress. And that cloak is so worn to the tread you can look through it. I really have nothing to wear.'

He laughed out load. 'We're you planning on walking through Kirkwall in just your nightdress in broad daylight? I would love to see the reactions.'

'No you wouldn't. You would scowl at everyone who dared to look at me,' Marian tittered, 'you got jealous just by learning I took safety measures against a pregnancy.' 'I'm not –' he started but she silenced him by teasingly licking his lips with the tip of her tongue. 'You are my wonderful,' she reached down to stroke his already hardening length, 'brutally handsome,' a slight squeeze that earned her a tormented growl, 'loving, caring,' a firmer grip made him jolt, '_jealous_ wolf.'

'Oh you –' He caught her mouth in a searing kiss that melted her into a trembling puddle of desire. Their love making started anew until they were both completely spent and exhausted.

'I love morning sex,' Hawke murmured, wrapped around his body, making a serious attempt to crawl away in him. Fenris chortled quietly. 'So I noticed. And I agree.' He allowed himself to close his eyes and enjoy the incredible warm feeling of happiness. But before he would doze off he sat up. He took a deep breath, rubbed his face and noted the dead weight of his bird of prey, still hanging on to him. She was fast asleep. He smiled and carefully pulled away from her. He covered her with the sheets and blankets she herself had brought him before he got dressed. He went down to the kitchen to make coffee and while the water started to boil he looked for some clothes for her to put on.

He never saw the dark-robed figure that stealthily sneaked into the cellar and disappeared through a concealed little door into the adjacent premises that belonged to one Gascard DuPuis.

* * *

'What in the Maker's name are you wearing?' Leandra stared incredulously and in horror at the light fawn baggy trousers and faded blue too large tunic her daughter showed up in. To prevent the trousers from sagging she had tied something around her hips that suspiciously looked like the rope of a curtain. Hawke twirled. 'You don't like it?' It was the best Fenris had been able to come up with besides a few pompous robes and frivolous dresses she had resolutely refused to put on. Fenris thought she looked adorable but then again, she would look adorable in a potato sack.

'You look like some common deckhand on a pirate ship,' her mother however commented with disgust, 'why are you dressed up like that? Don't tell me this is your new choice of clothing.'

'Don't worry. But you must admit it's far better than walking through the city naked.'

'What?' Leandra exclaimed in abhorrence but Marian had already disappeared into the small side-room where she kept her armour and underclothes. Leandra shot a suspicious glare at the white-haired elf who was leaning against the doorpost with a perfectly blank expression on his face. Before she could open hostilities Marian re-emerged, crossing the space to the bedroom she shared with her brother.

'Is Carver in?' Without waiting for an answer she darted into the little room. 'Wake up, lazybones, we're going to the Wounded Coast.' Carver's muffled protest was unintelligible although it wasn't hard to guess what he meant. 'We have an appointment with the Seeker. And since it concerns you as much as me I thought you would want to come along.' More stifled growls as if Carver had put his head under his pillow, ending with a groaned, 'Go away!'

'Okay, have it your way. But don't start wailing the next time you feel left out.' She shrugged while she walked over to a cupboard and retrieved a wicker basket. 'Just as well he doesn't want to come, saves me making a lot of excuses for his grumpy behaviour.' She smiled broadly at Fenris. 'Let's go to the market. Goodbye Mother, see you later.'

After she left, Leandra had the dizzy feeling she had been enveloped by a whirlwind. She didn't like it her daughter had been in the company of that elf and why for Andraste's sake had she been dressed in those repulsive clothes? She feared she knew the answer but she didn't want to think about it. She shook her head and went to the fireplace to make some tea.

* * *

Berran was pacing through the sand. He hadn't been very pleased with this "pick nick" thing but Wynne had agreed, saying it would be nice to get out of the city for a while. After hours of hiking they had reached a remote spot that held the remains of an old ruin. Hawke had spread the continence of the basket she had taken with her on a blanket. At first he had had the feeling she was mocking him but that feeling had passed when he had seen her taking in the salty tingling air with pure contentment. 'See, much better than being gathered in a stuffed room,' she had said. He hadn't agreed but whatever it took to tell her all she knew was worth the sand in his boots and the blisters on the soles of his feet. His eyes had rested for a brief moment on the strange looking elf sitting next to her with an attentive bearing as if he was guarding her. Wynne had stated he wasn't her bodyguard so what was he? Her best friend as she had claimed? Her lover? Husband even? There was a possessiveness in his look he hadn't noticed before. He dismissed the thoughts as being not important. Instead he turned to the woman who was sitting on a boulder, happily eating a bread roll. Something had changed in her demeanour since yesterday but he couldn't exactly define what. He wasn't used to be confronted with happiness and he decided to ignore it. He took the offensive.

'I'll ask you bluntly, Serah Hawke, are you a mage or not?' He made it sound as if he was giving her a last chance.

She finished her bread roll before answering him. 'Do you really think I would tell a Seeker if I were? Besides that, aren't you trained in recognizing mages? You should be able to tell yourself.'

He squinted at her through narrowed eyes. 'Just answer my question. It would help our investigation enormous if you were honest.'

'I don't see how the knowledge of me being a mage would help at all besides the fact you would then have a legitimate reason to haul me to some torture room to beat the truth out of me.'

'So you admit you have been withholding information.' This time Berran's voice sounded intimidating. The elf's expression hardened immediately; Hawke's face stayed as relaxed as it had been all morning.

'Not at all. But I know of your methods. You would use all means to make me confess everything you wanted to hear. I've always wondered why you Seekers do that; under torture someone is willing to say anything. You end up with a lot of information but none the wiser.' She started to drive him insane. She wasn't lying as such, just being evasive. The maddening thing was he _knew_ but if he told her that, he was forced to reveal some facts he was reluctant to share. On the other hand he was certain she kept more things secret and that he had to come clear if he wanted her to cooperate. He only hoped with all his heart that she wouldn't make a scene or, if she did, the elf could calm her down.

Hawke took a swill of the light cider she had poured herself and leaned against a piece of ancient masonry. 'You haven't been that honest yourself. You never explained why you used the mansion of a necromancer. Or was that a lie? About the necromancy I mean. After all you also claimed Gascard DuPuis to be a slaver. A little overdone, don't you think? And if you really knew this DuPuis is a necromancer, it seems totally out of character to use his house as a trap to lure _me_ in instead of him.'

Berran stared at her as if he was contemplating telling her some big secret. He shot a short glance at Wynne who gave him a little nod in return. He tapped with his fingers on his thigh and cut the knot. 'I must give you that calling DuPuis a slaver was exaggerated but we wanted to pique your interest as much as possible. We had no reason at all to lure him into a trap. He is one of our men in Minrathous.'

Hawke's jaw dropped in bewilderment. 'You employ a necromancer?'

'He's not actually a necromancer. I know he dabbles in bloodmagic but that is more like a cover. Who in Tevinter would suspect a bloodmage to be a spy for the Seekers?' He took a deep breath. 'Listen Serah Hawke. I know you are a mage and apparently an extraordinary one.' He lifted his hand to keep her from protesting. 'I know that because I had DuPuis keep an eye on you. Last night he followed you when you left your house in a hurry and overheard your conversation with the elf. That's the reason I summoned you today.'

She was so shocked that at first she didn't react. Her second impulse was to spring upon Berran and throttle him but with all her might she managed to hold back. Fenris already stood in a protective stance, sword drawn, defying everyone who dared to approach her. The four sentries that accompanied them reached for their weapons but didn't act – yet. 'You fucking son of a bitch,' Hawke snarled through clenched teeth. She felt nauseous but fought back the bile forming in the back of her throat. 'Did you run out of clumsy Seekers? Did you have to stoop that low to let a bloodmage spy on me and intrude Fenris's home?' Briefly she thought back at Varric's words this very morning. Maker! They had been far more vulnerable and exposed than even the dwarf had imagined. 'What is your purpose? To arrest me after all?' She pushed away the thought of DuPuis witnessing the most precious moments shared between her and Fenris. If she allowed herself to think about that, she would surely throw up.

'Please try to understand Serah Hawke,' Wynne finally spoke, 'it's getting us nowhere if we continue to circle around each other. Berran and I already had strong suspicions you were a mage but we needed proof.'

'To what end? Blackmail me? Take me prisoner? How long has that bastard stayed?' She saw Fenris's strained posture and knew he was feeling as furious and sick as she did. She stared at the blanket and the food lying on it. Yes, it had been meant as some kind of joke, to taunt that harsh figure of a Seeker. But now that idea seemed to turn to bite her in the ass. It wasn't that funny anymore.

'Just long enough to find out what we wanted to know. Not long after midnight he came to the warehouse to report. We are not going to imprison you. We would have already done so if that had been our intention.'

Marian closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath in an ultimate attempt to compose herself. Part of her still wanted to knock the Seeker cold but she realised that would only leave her very dead. 'The Guard Captain told me the DuPuis mansion had been deserted for over a year.'

'That's true. DuPuis only returned to Kirkwall after you filled his house with dead people,' Berran said brusquely.

Her eyes shot open again. She noticed that Fenris had lowered his sword but hadn't sheathed it. He looked willing to attack anyone who made a wrong movement. For some reason it moved her and she felt a wave of deep love wash through her body. She wanted to hug him but that would probably not be a good idea at this moment. 'Explain to me why it is so damn important to you to know that I'm a mage. I thought the commotion was about my father. You made that very clear yesterday.'

'A s a mage you must know of your father's findings. You can't tell me he never mentioned any of them to you,' Berran said stubbornly.

Hawke sighed. 'And that's where you go wrong. He never told me anything.'

Berran took a threatening step forwards and Fenris immediately heaved his sword. 'I don't believe you.'

'Alright, that's enough,' Wynne intervened, acting like the peacemaker again. 'Serah Hawke, by now I would like some of your cider and I suggest we all take a cup before blood starts to flow with no reason at all.'

'I see plenty of reasons,' Fenris grumbled. Just as Hawke he was beside himself that someone (_someone? a bloodmage for crying out loud)_ had stolen into his mansion who not only had eavesdropped on them but could have seen ... The grip on the hilt of his sword tightened so fast that his knuckles went white. 'Fenris,' her soft warm voice suddenly sounded by his ear, 'I know. I feel the same. But let's try to put it aside for the moment.' He turned to see her standing next to him, a pleading look in her eyes. She really was afraid he would start a carnage. He willed his anger away, sheathed his sword and let his fingers briefly touch her face. 'You are right.'

They all sat down and Hawke busied herself with filling cups with cider. 'If that spy of yours reported well, then you know all there is to know. Then you _know_ my father never gave away anything of his life before he met my mother. It was she who unveiled at least a tiny piece of the mystery.'

'Indeed, something about an experimental method to apply protection,' Berran said impatiently, 'and we want to learn all about that.'

'With that you have all the information I can give you on the topic.'

The Seeker visibly got enraged; his face twitched and his black coloured eyes darkened even more. 'You little –' he began but Wynne grabbed his wrist.

'Tell me about your technique to perform magic, Serah Hawke. I understand it differs greatly from the normal way.' And turning to Berran she added under her voice but just loud enough for the others to hear, 'Stop acting like a spoiled juvenile and listen for a change.' Hawke looked away to hide her grin and she heard Fenris with some difficulties try to transform a smirk into a cough. She didn't know if Wynne had uttered the words on purpose but in any case it broke the tension. One couldn't stay angry when a Seeker was being called to order by a mage and looked like the proverbial little boy that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He flushed and mumbled something under his breath but didn't raise his voice again.

'I must warn you,' Hawke said while she filled the cups once more, 'it's a strange story. At least Fenris thought so.' After she had finished Wynne looked pensively.

'It is an extraordinary technique indeed, even if you now are afraid that your mana is blocked by some spell or device.'

'The bloodmage _has_ been paying attention,' Marian said resentfully. Wynne flashed her an excusing smile. 'I have never heard of a mage who is able to wield magic by just tapping into the Fade and use the available energy without encountering a demon.'

'Neither have I. And you never wondered why your father taught you this strange method?' Berran piped up in his gruffly way. Wynne looked sternly at him and he backed down. Hawke almost pitied him. 'No. Why should I? I've always been under the impression it was the only way to use magic.'

'That makes sense,' Wynne agreed. 'The sad thing is we are back at zero. I mean, we know you're a mage who has been taught incredible skills but you let alone we can't fathom how or why. Your father with all he wanted to accomplish still stays a conundrum and we are running out of sources.'

Fenris had have time enough to think it all over. All that Marian was telling the mage and the flustered Seeker had astonished him before; no need to listen to information he already had been given. Instead he was trying to find some kind of – well no solution but perhaps an opening.

'If you permit me,' he said thoughtfully in the fallen silence. 'Yes?' Wynne encouraged him. 'Everything is welcome.' He looked up. 'I was thinking about the runesmith.' They all looked puzzled at him.

'What runesmith?' Berran asked. He as good as barked but Fenris was willing to interpreted his tone as asking. After all he was still trying to recover from a tap over the fingers given by a mage.

'That depends. As far as I can think there are at least two. You mentioned yesterday that it took a very skilled runesmith to work the runes Malcolm Hawke invented or created into pieces of armour and weapons. It seems logical to me they know more about his skills and perhaps even purposes. So there must be one in Tevinter and one in Ferelden.'

Marian looked at him in awe. _Not only my wonderful, brutally handsome, loving, caring and deliciously jealous wolf, but also intelligent and further thinking one. I never would have come up with that._

'Well,' Wynne started, looking sidelong at Berran, 'as a matter of fact we did put some attention to those but when we couldn't track them down fast enough we thought it more useful to turn our attention to Malcolm's offspring.'

'Perhaps that wasn't the wisest decision,' Fenris said dryly.

'Would you be able to find one of the two runesmiths?' Hawke asked.

'It must be possible,' Wynne said, 'I think it's best we start with looking for the one in Ferelden. I remember a dwarf, a topsider of course, who sometimes visited your father. As I said, we tried to find him but I have to admit we didn't put much effort into it. We should try again. And we could ask Gascard DuPuis to ask around in Tevinter.'

Marian tried not to flinch at the mention of that name.

'I have another proposition for you. I am going to the Deep Roads very soon for various reasons.' She waved a hand at seeing their questioning faces. 'Not important just personal. It will take us several weeks. During that time you can try to trace down one of the two dwarfs who worked with my father. Although I know very little, that dwarf's knowledge and mine put together could lead to some useful outcome. Yes, I'm willing to cooperate. As long as I'm not dragged to one of your prisons to be turned inside out,' she said with a scorn expression at the Seeker.

'That won't happen,' Wynne stated firmly.

After some hesitation Berran said, 'You are a strange woman, Serah Hawke. The most strange person I ever encountered and I count Wynne amongst them. You should feel flattered.'

'I will only feel flattered when this whole trial will be over with a satisfying end.' She suddenly felt Fenris's arm around her. 'If you dare to threaten her one more time, be prepared to feel the answer of my sword,' she heard him say ferociously. As a warrior she should feel annoyed. She was very well capable to defend herself. As a woman she melted. Again. She crossed the tender look of Wynne. _She once had loving feelings for my father. Has she ever found someone ..._

'Let's break up and return to Kirkwall,' Wynne said. 'We will try to find one of the dwarfs. I will send you a message when we do so. I hope you will succeed in whatever you think to find in the Deep Roads.'

'My mother's old family estate,' Hawke murmured. They gathered their stuff, including the somewhat spoiled pick nick items and headed back to Kirkwall

-.

No one ever saw the dark clad figure who had been hiding behind the rocks the whole time. He smiled with a predatory grin. This very morning he might not have assembled the information he wanted, the evening before and even more this trip to the Wounded Coast had provided him with everything he wanted to know. Including the existence of the lyrium tattooed elf. It was time to return to Tevinter. A lot of people were waiting for his information about Malcolm Hawke's daughter. The elf was a bonus. It would earn him a lot of money and status.

* * *

**Another cliff-hanger ... or rather some kind of suspense.**

**At this point I must confess this story has taken its whole different turn, as stories intend to do ... because they want to be written. (With thanks to a certain dwarf and Terry Pratchett).**


	14. Chapter 14

**Quite a lot of angry people in this chapter – and not all of them with good reason ...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 14

'No! I don't want that abomination to come with us into the Deep Roads!' Fenris shouted heatedly. He stood before the hearth in his mansion, across from Hawke, his fists clenched, his face in a snarl. He had asked her who she had in mind to be part of the expedition, for Bartrand had made it clear there were not enough supplies to bring everyone. He regretted that question greatly right now. She had tried to tell him as diplomatic as possible Anders would be one of them and he had taken it very badly. They had been having a fruitless discussion for quite a while now, a discussion that at this point started to turn into a serious argument.

'He is a healer, I'm not going down there without one,' Hawke put her foot down. The last thing she wanted was a fight with Fenris but she wasn't going to give in to his rigid motives either.

'_You_ are a healer, we don't need another one,' he countered passionately.

'I'm not a healer, I'm a physician. He can treat wounds much faster than I.'

'That doesn't matter.'

She almost wanted to slap him. _See the truth of it, you one-sided elf_! 'Repeat that again when you have to fight with a broken arm or a gushing slash,' she said impatiently. 'He can save lives down there in an instance. I can't.'

'You don't really think that I will let him treat me?!' Fenris growled, 'I'd rather die.'

'I bet the others will have an entirely different opinion. Besides that, he is a Grey Warden and that comes in handy when you have to deal with Darkspawn.'

Fenris thumped the table. 'He is an _abomination_, Hawke. He can turn out to be far more dangerous than an Archdemon!'

The "Hawke" part stung. 'Oh don't be ridiculous; you are terribly exaggerating and you know it.' They were both growing frustrated with one another because they thought the other wasn't willing to see reason. And Hawke additional because she was forced to defend Anders. She didn't completely disagree with Fenris, she too was afraid that the Deep Roads would have a bad influence on him, or rather on that sinister spirit he harboured. But she'd rather drop dead than admit that this very moment. And she was convinced she could keep it under control if that Justice-thing started to make trouble. Nothing a good talking to or if need be a resolute whack around the ears couldn't remedy.

'You're only defending him because he is a mage,' Fenris yelled in despair. His markings flared bright blue.

'You know that's completely unfair! You're acting unreasonable like a little child. And put that light out damn you, it's not worth it,' she yelled back.

'It's worth everything,' he roared, 'why can't you see he is a greater threat than all the Darkspawn together?!' He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her until she saw the truth of it. 'Just you know I'm not coming with you if you take him along,' he hissed.

'Fine,' she spat, 'then you stay here and make brooding into an art. Perhaps you can sell it to the more eccentric nobles around.' She turned on her heels and stormed off. Before she had reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard a loud crashing sound from breaking glass. Undoubtedly an innocent wine bottle ending its life abruptly against a wall.

She slammed the front door shut and plopped down on the doorstep, leaning her elbows on her knees and propping her chin in her hands. _Damned elf_. She hated to fight with him, especially over Anders. Why couldn't he see they needed him? She didn't know what to do. She was convinced that if she'd go back, the shouting would start again and she was certain she couldn't cope with that. Having a row with Carver or her mother was different. She didn't like that either, but at least she was used to it. The same counted for the stupid remarks from her uncle that didn't even hurt anymore. But Fenris was supposed to be her save haven. Come to think of it, his mansion, ruined as it might be, had become more of a home to her than Gamlen's shack. The closest to home since they had to flee Lothering. They had spend a wonderful time in it for the best part of half a week, filled with making love, drinking wine, talking, laughing and reading lessons. He had been reluctant about the latter, almost mortally afraid to make mistakes which had given her more inside in his former life than words could have done. She had been patient – oh yes, she could be patient for the right reasons – and as she had expected he picked it up fast. He had confessed about the Fog Warriors who had taken care of him when they stumbled upon him while he was near death, being separated from Danarius because of a Qunari attack. How he had killed them on the demand of the unexpectedly (but then again not) turned up Magister but had ran away from him afterwards as if he just then had woke up out of a hypnosis. She had been shocked, not about his deed but about what he had endured, how his mind had been captured only to be freed by committing something so terrible it still haunted him. And presumably would for the rest of his life. She knew he was still hiding things although hiding wasn't the right expression. He needed time to transform his thoughts and memories – the ones he had and all of them horrible – into words he assumed were right. In words he thought she would understand and would not drive her away. She produced a very bleak smile. He was so scared to drive her away with his history while he accepted her completely with all her pain and flaws. If only he could see her acceptance ...

She wasn't scared that all they had shared lay in shambles but she feared for a major setback. Perhaps it was the wisest thing to go back and apologize. Maybe she should even reconsider taking Anders along. Fenris was right after all, he could be a danger. And she might not be a magical healer, but she could accomplish a lot. She could act like a medic. But was it right to put the wellbeing of so many at stake because of Fenris's feelings about Anders? And her feelings for the elf ...? She stared at the little square where some – most elven – servants had gathered in the mid-day sun to talk or presumably gossip. They stood right across Gascard DuPuis's mansion but he was the last person she wanted to think about right now. At this moment other persons mattered.

And then she heard the door creak open. Not a moment later he sat down next to her.

'I'm sorry,' he said meekly. She removed her hands from her chin and instead laid them in her lap, starting fidgeting with her fingers. 'I'm sorry too.'

'I shouldn't have yelled at you –' they started simultaneously and laughed nervously about that.

'If it really upsets you that much, then I leave Anders behind,' she offered.

'No, you shouldn't do that,' he said with emphasis, 'you were right, he can be useful.' He took in a deep breath. 'My anger had nothing to do with that.' He tensed, twitching his face, rubbing his hand through it, 'I believe that – mage,' (he pronounced the word as something extremely dirty) 'brings out the worst in me.' He bit his lip and daren't glance at her. 'The way he looks at you, like he undresses you with his eyes. It makes me want to rip his heart out. I have to get over that. I have to learn you will not run to him because of his plight of mages, of him worshipping you and you falling for that.' He smiled contritely. 'You are right, I am jealous.'

And again she was shocked and not only with his blunt confession. She did an effort to understand; well, perhaps she _was_ shocked because of that. Was he so unsure? Did he really think she would fall for the idiotic zealous motives Anders loved to wield? And then she understood. Anders was very good with words, he used them as a weapon. The pen more powerful than the sword ... That might be true when one wanted to rouse a rebellion but in her case she preferred Fenris's way of talking. Perhaps more timid although he had shouted to make his point clear. Not only shouted but yelled and roared and smashed a bottle to its end. No, he wasn't timid, he was cautious in picking his words and at the same time completely open. She closed her eyes. _Yes, you do think I'll fall for that ludicrousness ... are afraid Anders will spin me into his web with his honeyed words while you, love, seem to be searching for words but in the end are far better with language although you didn't know how to read and write. But you are real; with you I know what I get, you don't have a hidden agenda; you are the ultimate embodiment of honesty. Yes, you pick your words because you know how important they are. And as a wonderful bonus, you can recite the boring Chant of Light and arouse me just by listening to your voice._

And she knew about jealousy.

'You're not the only one,' she confessed, 'if Isabela just one more time looks at you as if she not only tries to guess the colour of your underclothes but wants to tear them off of you, I'll kill her.' He chuckled softly.

Then he turned to her and gave her a tormented look with those irresistible silver streak green eyes. His hand rose and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

'I can't belief you really love me,' he said softly. She considered various replies but stuck to the only one that counted. Wit and irony could only amuse that far.

'Love is not only about pleasure and sex, but also about comprehension and acceptance,' she breathed. 'That we have a disagreement doesn't mean I stopped loving you.'

Without a warning he crashed his lips upon hers in a mind-numbing kiss and almost crushed her in his embrace. He held her as if his life depended upon it and she could swear he swallowed back tears. She answered his kiss with a throaty sob and before they knew it they were enveloped in a flurry of hungry lips and gripping, caressing hands.

They got interrupted by an exalted catcall, counterpointed by the sound of someone violently clearing their throat.

'Would you please take that kind of behaviour inside before I'm enforced to arrest you?' Aveline's voice rang out.

'Oh no, do go on!' Isabela chimed, 'can I join in?'

'Shut up whore,' Aveline said venomously as she had done many times without result.

They let go of each other, only now realizing they were still sitting, or rather half lying, on the doorstep, their actions for everyone to witness.

'What are you doing here?' Hawke asked flustered.

'Varric sent us,' Aveline said, 'apparently he has gathered enough money for the expedition and he wants us all to meet in the Hanged Man.'

'And he couldn't be bothered to come and announce that himself?' Hawke tried to readjust her clothes, much to the amusement of Fenris who eyed her with a lopsided smile.

'As far as I understand, he is busy bickering with his brother over money,' Aveline said sulkily, 'but he ensured us that he would be present at the Hanged Man soon, even if it meant he had to smash Bartrand's skull.'

Hawke sniggered. 'I empathize. Alright, we'll be at the Hanged Man within the hour.'

'See you there,' Aveline said, dragging a grinning Isabela with her when she went away.

Fenris took hold of her arm, pulled her up and hauled her inside. They didn't make it to the bed upstairs.

* * *

Before they went to the Hanged Man they stopped at Gamlen's to pick up Carver, that is to say if he would be at home. He was, according to the screaming that could be heard from the street below. Apparently he was already informed about the fact that the trip into the Deep Roads was now really going to take place and it was even clearer their mother disagreed with him being part of it.

'Thank the Maker you're here,' Leandra exclaimed when she saw her daughter walk through the door, 'please convince your brother not to come with you.'

'Don't even try!' Carver barked, 'I won't stay behind to be nursed like a baby! Damn it Mother, I'm a grown-up; why can't you accept that!'

'I won't allow both of my children risk their lives,' Leandra screeched.

_No, you'd rather I perish down there instead of your precious princeling,_ Hawke couldn't help thinking but immediately chastised herself. _She's your mother. She would be devastated if you wouldn't come back._

'Just calm down you two,' she said, 'nothing is decided yet. The only message I received is that the expedition can be financed by now. There are many issues to settle.' She still hadn't determined if she wanted to take Carver along. Although he gladly stated he was a grown-up, he ever so often acted immature. And frankly, she didn't need more than one sword arm. Fenris she could rely upon blindly. Apart from the fact he was her lover and she didn't want to be separated from him for just a day let alone several weeks, his skills were better than her brother's. He was more focused and their cooperation was wonderful. 'There will be only a meeting to talk about when where and how I suppose.'

'I'm not staying behind,' Carver raged. Before her mother could answer Hawke broke in.

'Just shut it and come with us. Let's first hear what Varric has to say.' While Carver angrily stomped out of the hovel, Hawke laid a hand on her mother's shoulder. 'I know you are concerned.

'Please leave him here,' Leandra pleaded. Hawke gave her a half smile. 'You know the chance he would come back in one piece from Ostagar was much smaller than the one he will perish in the Deep Roads.' Her mother started to weep. 'Marian, I already lost your sister, I can't bear to lose him too. Or you. But you are so much stronger than he is. Do you think I don't know it was you who brought him home safe? Don't take him with you, I beg you!' Marian was too confused to say anything, she just put her arms around her mother. 'I will try to keep him here,' she finally managed. Fenris's hand on hers brought her back. 'We have to go,' he mouthed. She nodded. 'I will leave you now but I promise we will talk about this later,' she said. Her mother let go off her and sagged in a chair. 'I don't want to lose any of you,' she said.

'You won't,' Marian replied and left the hovel with her elf.

'Do you yet know what to do with your brother?' Fenris asked while they walked to the Hanged Man.

Hawke shook her head. She was still thinking about her mother's reaction and words, not knowing how to interpret them, 'I'm not inclined to take him along. His stubbornness can put us all in jeopardy. But then again, I'm afraid he will do something utterly stupid when I leave him here.'

'Like turning you in?' he asked frowning.

'No, more like "proving myself by taunting and fighting the Coterie and getting myself killed"-stupid. It could well be it's more dangerous for his health to let him stay in Kirkwall than to take him into the Deep Roads. Ugh. I hate making this kind of decisions.' They had reached the Hanged Man. 'Well, let's brace ourselves against a lot of shouting.'

Fenris went ahead on the stairs and entered Varric's suite. Before she could follow him, someone grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the door. She met Anders's eyes, they were not looking happy.

'What's going on between you and Fenris?' He sounded strained and angry. 'I heard rumours.'

_I would have been surprised you hadn't,_ she thought, _since we have been Varric's birthday- and Satunalia present all in one in the way we offered ourselves on a silver platter, or rather a disarrayed bed._ Out loud she said, 'I don't see that's any of your concern.' She felt annoyed that he dared to approach her like this. 'Last time I looked you were still not my guardian.'

'So it is true. What do you see in a beast like that?! He hates all mages!' Despite the gloom in the corridor she could see his face burn red with agitation.

'Obviously there's at least one mage he doesn't hate.'

'How long do you think it will take before he hurts you!' He raised his voice. 'How long before he decides you also have to be wiped away? Someone like him isn't capable of love!'

She tried to break free. 'Don't interfere with my personal life, Anders,' she warned him, 'you don't know what you're talking about.'

'I'm only trying to protect you.' Once more she yanked her arm away but he held her in a firm grip. 'You _know_ it will be only a matter of time before he turns on you,' he beseeched, 'He is dangerous, he can't be trusted. Why can't you see that?!'

And suddenly Fenris's voice sounded and she felt his arm around her waist. 'Let go of her and step away,' he said in a dark rumbling and very threatening tone.

Anders huffed. 'I'd never have thought that a _slave'_ (he spat the word) 'would be that possessive.'

Hawke heard Fenris take in a sharp breath and she felt his body go taut. She leaned heavily against him to prevent him from ripping the mage apart. She would like very much do it for him, but that would lead to nothing but a mess in the corridor and lots of questions. 'That was low, Anders. Don't you say anything like that ever again.' She was furious but tried not to sound like it to not madden Fenris even more.

'Fine! Rush to meet your misfortune! But don't come complaining to me.' And with these words he paced past them.

She laid her hand upon Fenris's arm before he could go after Anders. 'Don't. It's not worth it; he's just jealous and thus he wants to hit where it hurts.'

'Marian,' Fenris said hoarsely, 'I really want to kill him. And if he touches you one more time, I will.'

She turned and took his face in both hands. 'Think about it this way: we share each other's life and love and bodies. And feelings and thoughts. How do you think that makes him feel? This was a desperate and idiotic attempt to win me over. You should pity him, not want him dead.'

He embraced her hard and buried his face in her hair. 'I'll try,' he said, 'but if we are really forced to face each other for weeks in cramped tunnels I can't promise I won't hit him once or twice.'

'As long as he is able to get up afterwards, that's fine with me,' Hawke chortled.

He kissed her. 'I'm not used to this,' he whispered on her lips, 'as far as I know I never loved someone. And now I do, I'm scared to death something goes wrong. On the other hand I don't want to be _possessive_.' He almost choked on the word. She caressed his cheek. _Oh yes, you are so much better with honest language_ 'There's nothing wrong with a little possessiveness. I can revel in the swooning way women look at you, knowing that you're mine. But the moment they would make a move to steal you away from me I'm afraid I will turn into a frenzied bitch.'

He raised his brows. 'A frenzied bitch? I would like to see that. Perhaps I should –'

She put two fingers on his lips to silence him and with a swift and deftly movement he caught them in his mouth. Her breath hitched when he slowly started to suck on them and twirled his tongue around the digits, his eyes, filled with mischief, locked with hers. It reminded her of the first time he touched her, his thumb caressing the palm of her hand, the erotic feelings it had brought up. She couldn't hold back a soft whimper.

'Ah, there are my lovebirds. Are you ready to join the meeting or do you want to make use of one of the rooms before that?' Varric's voice chimed, 'I must warn you there's one grumpy mage in my suite who I could but just convince of the importance of this gathering before he wanted to storm off so if you want to blow off steam do it now.'

Fenris let slip her fingers with the promise of more to come in the privacy of his mansion in his eyes.

'I think we'll manage,' Marian called to the dwarf, 'just,' she let follow only for Fenris to hear and he grinned.

* * *

'Alright, here's the thing,' Varric started when he got everyone's attention. 'We have the coin to go into the Deep Roads, and the maps, thanks to Blondie. So now we have to decide who is coming.' He let his eyes roam through the room. 'Of course we need our leader.' Hawke was still somewhat flabbergasted about and rejecting against that title but assumed she had to get used to it for no one objected. 'And her lover.' Now she shot to attention and Fenris with her. Varric examined their reactions. 'What?' he said with an innocent face, 'do you think there is anyone left who doesn't know that by now?'

'And who do we have to thank for that,' Hawke muttered.

'I presume we all agree we need the elf's sword,' Varric continued, not heeding her remark, 'and I don't want to hear any protests from you Blondie.' His look lingered upon the mage with a warning expression. Hawke looked straight ahead. _please no more hostilities, I've had enough of those for at least a month._ But Anders stayed silent. Her brother however didn't.

'And what about my sword? Isn't that good enough?' he shouted indignantly.

'Shut up Carver,' Aveline said, 'your sword may be good enough but your attitude isn't. You're constantly sulking like a spoiled boy, act however you please and refuse to take orders. If it'd be my decision I wouldn't take you down there even if you were the last person in Thedas; you would be a threat to everyone.'

Carver gaped. 'How dare you!' he croaked.

'She is right, Carver,' Hawke backed Aveline, 'I simply can't rely on you. Besides that, I already determined to chose Fenris and Anders because Aveline had but just become Guard Captain, Isabela likes looting but not underground and Merrill is too busy with her mirror and with that -'

'Oh yes, that will be safe! They will be constantly at each other's throats because of you, you horny bitch. The Darkspawn will have – ouch!' Varric's fist shot out and hit him square in the face. With uncharacteristically fury he growled, 'Call you sister that name one more time, you brat, and Bianca will answer.'

'I think this kind of proves my point,' Aveline said.

Carver stared wide-eyed at the dwarf, blood streaming out of his nose, not able to react. Fenris slowly let go of Marian's arm after he felt the strain in her body falter and he could be certain that she wouldn't fly across the table to murder her brother. A squabble between those two might be amusing, this was getting out of hand.

'Oh, look at the poor boy,' Isabela cooed, 'all bloody faced. What would Faith say if she'd see you like that?' Carver's expression changed from bafflement to panic in an instant as his eyes fluttered to Merrill.

'Faith?' the elven girl asked with her innocent voice, 'I didn't know you visited the Chantry, Carver.'

For a few heartbeats everyone was perfectly still, so still that the crackling in the hearth sounded like a roaring fire. Then Hawke burst out into a hysterical fit of laughter, followed suit by the others except for Carver and a bewildered looking Merrill. 'What did I say wrong this time?'

'Nothing, absolutely nothing,' Hawke hiccupped, 'o Maker, I think I'm going to die!' She grasped Fenris's shoulder who couldn't but also laugh out loud.

'Kitten, you are priceless,' Isabela guffawed, holding on to Anders who almost doubled up despite his sour mood not a minute ago. Varric had knocked over his tankard with ale while desperately trying not to fall from his chair. 'This is by far the best joke I've heard in years,' he howled after he was more or less capable of speaking again.

'What is so funny about the Chantry?' Merrill informed with large eyes which caused another eruption of hilarity.

'Please, I can't take anymore,' Aveline wheezed.

'I think Carver can explain that to you,' Isabela hooted after she had found some breath, 'he knows every fun part of Faith.' And this time she keeled over, dragging Anders with her on the floor.

It took almost half an hour before everyone had been able to stop laughing. In the end even Carver had produced a small grin after it became clear no one was willing to tell Merrill what the excitement was all about. Eventually the small elf had stopped asking but Hawke had to give her her merry temper didn't wane.

The meeting still got interrupted with smirks and stifled chuckles and no one was paying much attention. So finally they decided to try again next evening. By that time Carver had already disappeared, followed by a still puzzled Merrill. 'But I thought Faith was a perfect name for a Chantry Sister,' they heard her say on the stairs and the snickering started anew.

'There goes someone who knows how to break the tension,' Varric sighed, 'remind me to buy poor Daisy a nice bunch of flowers.'

'She wouldn't understand what for,' Isabela giggled. 'That doesn't matter,' Varric retorted, 'it will make me feel better.'

When Hawke woke the next day, the muscles in her abdomen still ached.

* * *

It wasn't even summer yet and the city of Minrathous already baked in the heat. Gascard DuPuis started to sweat the moment he had disembarked. He didn't feel much like walking through the dirty decaying streets so he took a carriage to the Circle of Magi. When he stepped inside the cavernous hallway, he inhaled the cool air and felt the vague tingling sensation of magic all around. He was greeted by a senior mage and immediately brought to the office of Vitellius who had been the Archon for over a decade by now. Vitellius, clad in heavy dark blue robes was standing by one of the big arched windows, looking at the city that was covered in a light haze caused by the ever present dust. He turned around when DuPuis entered.

'I wasn't expecting you this soon,' he said with his remarkable high voice, 'I take it you were successful?'

'I have found Malcolm Hawke's daughter,' Dupuis replied, 'she lives in Kirkwall.' A elven slave entered with a tray with refreshments and put it on the table in the middle of the room. Vitellius waved her off.

'And Malcolm Hawke himself?'

'I'm sorry to report that he is dead.'

'Dead?' The Archon moved to the table. He poured two glasses of wine and offered DuPuis one. 'How?'

'I haven't been able to find out yet. What I did discover is that the daughter is also a mage,' he took an olive and chewed thoughtfully, 'a very strange one apparently.' He told what he had learned, overhearing the two conversations, and ended, 'She claims she knows little to nothing, but I'm not convinced. She was, understandably, on her guard against the Seeker and I don't think she wants to tell her lover everything.' He hadn't mentioned who the lover was.

'You have been very useful,' the Archon said after some silence, 'we will take it from here. You can return to Val Royeaux with some information the Seekers will find interesting. Go to my secretary, he will hand you a sealed letter and of course your payment.'

DuPuis smiled inwardly when he left the building. Certainly he had some interesting information, about Vitellius himself no less, that even the Divine herself would find interesting. But that could wait. First he had to visit a certain Magister who would find the whereabouts of his costly runaway slave even more of interest.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Introducing the King of Evil, entering the Deep Roads and ah, yes some smut. You are warned.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 15

Long after Gascard Dupuis had left, Danarius still sat in his study. He pensively tapped with his fingers on the polished wood of his desk, thinking about his next step. His first plan had been to send a band of slavers to Kirkwall, but he had dismissed the idea at the same time. He had sent dozens of slavers before and the elf had managed every time to stay out of their hands. He had received no word from the last group and feared now that they had been killed to the last man. Apparently his little wolf had found friends. And a mate. Not just any mate but the daughter of the great Malcolm Hawke above all. He smiled devilishly. DuPuis's information had been worth every piece of gold he had been rewarded with. Danarius highly doubted the Archon was willing to share that precious knowledge with him. He was certain Vitellius would want to catch this Marian Hawke himself to squeeze every last bit of information out of her. A mage without mana, he could hardly belief it, in fact he didn't belief it at all. More likely Malcolm had used some trick on her. It must have been an extremely clever and intricate one, but then again, Hawke had been a very intelligent and able man. He still felt a twang of anger and regret the man had turned down the offer of becoming his apprentice. But now he happened to have produced a very interesting daughter ... Hawke wouldn't have done something to mask her magic if she weren't very powerful.

Danarius wondered what kind of measures Vitellius would take to get his hands on Marian Hawke for he doubted not for a second that was his intention and he had to beat him at that. Certainly sending some kind of army to Kirkwall to capture her would be none of them. He knew the city was not very pleased with the wave of Ferelden refugees that had engulfed her after the Blight, but there was no better way to change a refugee into an esteemed citizen than a Tevinter attack on them. For reasons he could not fathom, magic and slavery were despised outside Tevinter. Therefore an army would be out of the question. The Archon more likely would use spies or scouts. His eye fell upon the bodyguard standing next to the door. He was human and not a slave. And definitely not infused with lyrium. Danarius had not tried that experiment again; it had cost him greatly to find the one person who had had the strength to endure the process and he didn't intend to repeat that search for someone else while he was still chasing his run-away success. Before he'd be recaptured – and he was sure that would happen – he had to make do with this hired human muscle. No, he was no spy material. In his mind he ticked off the candidates. Hadriana? No. A good apprentice and a promising Magister but she lacked the needed stealth and subtlety. Should he hire an Antivan Crow? Tempting, but they were more into assassination than shadowing and taking persons captive although that was part of their tactics. And besides that, he didn't want to involve Antiva in this problem.

Danarius snapped his fingers and the bodyguard sprang into attention.

'Wine,' he ordered. The man (he couldn't remember his name because of total disinterest; after all the man was just a short replacement in the string of many replacements until his pet would have been delivered back) disappeared in an instant and came back with a slave in tow. He retook his place by the door while the slave put a glass on the desk and filled it with Aggrigio Parvali. With a low bow he retreated, leaving the bottle behind.

Could he make use of the Seeker, Danarius mused. Both he and the mage from Ferelden would keep a close eye on Malcolm's daughter and thus on his pet. He knew the mage, not personally of course, but he had read enough reports to know that it would be very difficult to manipulate her, and not only because she was protected by a spirit. She was one of the few people he had heard of that couldn't be corrupted. That was a pity because although DuPuis had stated Marian Hawke had given away close to nothing, it would be interesting to learn more about her suspicions. After all Wynne had known Malcolm Hawke. She had discovered his secret notes. He would give his right arm to see those. But this Berran knew as much as she and perhaps he could be persuaded to spill some of that knowledge by the promise of money or power. Most people couldn't resist that.

His fingers burned with the desire to get Malcolm's daughter into his grip. At this very moment he couldn't define who he wanted more, her or his valuable run-away slave. He took a sip from his expensive wine. Both would be absolutely brilliant. He would even consider letting them reproduce; a child born out of them could be mightier than the most talented Magister. If guided in the right direction, that child could be the perfect weapon to wield against the Archon, the senate, the Qunari and the rest of the world. The perfect weapon to restore the power of the Tevinter Imperium and take over the world once again. With him as the ruler.

And then, suddenly, he remembered the one person qualified to do the job. Not an Antivan Crow, but as close as he could get. And with no political strings attached. The one with the training but without the connections. He even knew his whereabouts because, other than his fellow Magisters, he had very closely followed the outcome of the Blight that had started and soon after that had been smothered in Ferelden. In this matter Hadriana could come in handy, acting as his envoy. It went without saying the assassin must not know he would work for a Tevinter Magister. If he'd play this right he would within a few weeks not only be in the repossession of his priceless slave but also have the most intriguing mage in Thedas in his grasp. He ordered his bodyguard to send for Hadriana and took another sip of his wine.

Danarius contently leaned back in his chair and his devious smile broadened.

* * *

The wizened dwarf finally got up and said, 'There, it's done. Try to make that – woman break it.'

'It will be my pleasure,' Isabela tittered and she retrieved a pair of lock picks out of the folds of her almost non-existent clothes. Examining her, Hawke realized she wore more leather boots on her legs than fabric to cover the rest of her body. After about half an hour later the pirate had to give up. Fenris had folded his arms and by now waited patiently for some kind of miracle or an outburst from Isabela. Hawke leaned happily against his frame, watching Isabela's efforts. The dwarf looked upon the scene with distant interest, apparently already knowing he would be on the better end of the bargain. He had been recommended to them by Varric and after Isabela had done several attempts to catch them in the heat of the moment over the last week, Fenris had decided it was indeed time to have placed a decent lock on his door. Making love to Marian had become some game of hide-and-seek and he was tired of it. Especially after the suspicion they had been watched by DuPuis, it had been an extremely disturbing idea Isabela would do the same. It had been Hawke's idea to have that lock tested by the pirate queen herself since she was the best at it. He felt much better to see Isabela had wasted her last set of lock picks without result.

'No more peeking for you,' Hawke said while she gratefully paid the grinning dwarf.

'I can find other methods,' Isabela threatened.

'Don't even try. We have again taken up the habit of sleeping with our weapons close at hand, not because of you, mind you, although I really wanted to kill you last morning. But you never know when deadly enemies pop up. And you can be mistaken for one of those,' she added ominously.

After they had shooed Isabela away, they retreated with a bottle of white wine into the garden that Fenris liked to call his private jungle. The place was as wild as the mansion was dilapidated but Hawke rather liked the high grown trees, shot up bushes and wild flowers. It indeed looked more like a forest than a garden, it made her think of the surroundings of Lothering. For a while they just sat on the blanket they had dragged outside because neither of them trusted the rickety wooden bench, taking in the scenery, listening to the light breeze that rustled through the leafs and the calls of the birds inhabiting the trees, enjoying the fine weather and each other's company.

Fenris was the first to break the silence. 'I had again a flash of fast fleeting memories.'

Hawke started. 'What? When?'

'This morning. I drifted off, just like you. And then they came and went as quickly.'

'Why didn't you wake me?'

'You were sleeping so peacefully, it seemed a sin wake you up.' He smiled reassuringly. 'You needn't be concerned, it wasn't as frightening as the first time. Just looking at you brought me back my calmness to be honest.' He reached out and whirled a strand of her hair around his finger. 'It was inevitable it would happen again, I suppose. I will have to get used to it and, who knows, maybe there comes a moment that the remembrance lingers.'

'I truly hope so.' She let her fingers trace his beautiful chiselled jaw line.

He planted a soft kiss on her lips. 'Frankly, at this time I don't know what I fear the most: that my memories disappear before I can grasp them or that I have to confront them. Who knows what they will show me.'

'But they are a part of you history, of yourself.'

'Exactly.'

Hawke considered this, trying to comprehend. 'You may not remember anything from before the markings but you have made a mental picture of what it could have been. A ... kind of waking dream so to say. And now you are afraid that those images will be ripped apart if they are replaced with the truth.'

He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. He loved doing that, holding her close, smelling that faint rosemary scent; radiating his affection and at the same time being able to hide his feelings and expression. He didn't have to say she was right because she knew. It was as she had said, what he had feared this very morning when he had woke up with a racing heart and labouring breathing, realising it had happened again. This time his panic hadn't been focused on that _it_ had happened, but more on _what would_ happen if he'd ever found out what his life had been before the markings. What that would do to him. As she had guessed he had spun a fantasy about freedom and a loving family that due to Danarius had fallen apart. He had imagined parents, siblings. It had been the only way to survive the life he had been forced to live. If his memories would prove that he had been a slave all along, that he had nothing of worth to fall back on, no love, no embrace of family – and then he had looked at her sleeping frame. As he had done the first time. But this time it had given him so much comfort he had actually cried. _She_ was his family now, the fulfilment of that dream. She accepted him as he was, loved him even for it. It frightened him at first because he didn't know if he could live up to her expectations, but then the realisation struck that she loved him because of _him_, with all his faults. She had made that very clear. And at that moment he finally could breathe again. He still couldn't find the right words to tell her all that, but he was certain she understood. And he wanted to understand her. It brought him to the question that lingered in his mind for some time now.

'Was I the first after ... after –' he couldn't find the right word. To his relief she chuckled softly.

'Haven't you heard the wonderful romantic stories Varric tells about me?'

'Yes, and I know the dwarf can't separate truth form lies, or rather he likes his fantasy to get the better of him.'

She chuckled again and he revelled in the resonation it made against his chest. 'No, you weren't the first and you should be glad about it. I kind of had a nervous break-down. I cried my eyes out. It was a complete disaster.'

He held her closer, on the verge of strangling her. 'Then I can only hope the man you were with understood.'

After a short silence she said, 'He did. The whole of Lothering knew what had happened. Most inhabitants sympathised, after all my father had always been held in high esteem because of his heeling abilities. No one cared he was a mage; I told you before even the Templars turned a blind eye. Almost no one knew I was one but I doubt they would have bothered. The man I'm referring to knew but couldn't care less. He was the eldest son of the town's blacksmith, a blacksmith himself. He always stated that his profession used some kind of unidentified magic itself. And yes, he was patient, endured my fit of hysterics.' She produced something between a sob and a laugh. 'He taught me how to enjoy the act of love-making again, he restored my broken trust. He even asked me to marry him.'

For some reason that hurt. A man asking his Marian to become his wife. But then he acknowledged her strange way of stating this fact. And of course it was ridiculous to be jealous of someone she had been with before he had even met her.

'What was your answer?' He tried to sound as neutral as possible.

She sighed. 'I never got the chance to answer. That is to say, I raced with Carver to Ostagar the day after the question. And when we returned the Blight happened. He was killed in the fray and I and my family nearly managed to escape.' She swallowed and he felt her face twitch under his caressing fingers.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I wanted to turn him down but didn't know how without hurting him deeply. He didn't deserve to be hurt; he was a good man.' She took a breath and pulled herself upright, facing him. He was shocked by the pain in her eyes. 'Fenris, I wanted so hard to love him back the way he was worthy of. But he – he saw me as a housewife, the woman who would carry his children. It drove me mad. He wanted to protect me, keep me from the pain I had had to suffer. He truly loved me but as some kind of fragile flower or butterfly. That was not what I wanted. I ... I,' her voice faltered.

Now it was his turn to comprehend. 'You were angry with yourself that you couldn't be able to return his feelings after he had been so understanding,' he said and there was more of course. 'And also because you hadn't been able to prevent what happened before, that you were a victim, that you were forced to be a victim. That you were powerless to act, just let it happen. That you couldn't safe your father. You still are. Angry with yourself I mean.'

Somehow he had been prepared for her reaction. He had seen the forebodings in her angry reactions against the Seeker and her brother. All those feelings carefully hidden away suddenly surfaced. She was in a heartbeat but a puddle of tears, clutching his shoulders, weeping like there would be no end to it. He just held her, occasionally drawing his fingers through her hair, at some point wondering what the smith's son had done to calm her down after the dam broke. All this time she had been there for him and one simple question – _simple! You idiot; you should have known_ – broke her down. He felt miserable he had caused this even though it wasn't a bad thing. Finally her crying reduced to shuddering intakes of breath.

'Forgive me, I never should have asked,' he whispered.

She quivered again. 'I'm glad you did. It was about time this happened, although I didn't intend to burden you with it. I'm sorry I did.'

He tilted her head with one hand and with the thumb of the other one stroked tenderly her damp cheeks. 'Sometimes,' he smiled, 'you say the strangest things.'

She reciprocated his smile though a little watery. She nestled back in his arms and allowed peace to come down on her. Peace only her wolf could give her.

* * *

That same evening she had hardly set a foot in the Hanged Man before Carver as good as pounced upon her. He had evidently been waiting for her to arrive.

'Sister, we have to talk,' he said urgently. She sighed inwardly, knowing there was no avoiding this conversation. This was necessary to clear the air between them and she could only hope it wouldn't end in again a serious battle. She would do anything to avoid that. She nodded reassuringly at a concerned looking Fenris.

'Go ahead to Varric's suite,' she said, 'we will follow soon.' And to her brother, 'Come, let me buy you a pint.' Not a moment after they were seated at the counter, Carver opened the negotiations.

'First I want to apologize for what I called you the other night. I shouldn't have done that and for what it's worth, I didn't mean it.'

She could accuse him for trying to get on her good side, but one look upon his face taught her he was genuinely sorry. He had always been very bad at hiding his feelings; she could read his face like a book. 'That's all right, Carver. We were all a bit tense.'

'Yes I know. Nevertheless ...' He took the mug Corff offered him. 'Listen Marian, I really don't want to stay behind. I understand why you take Fenris and Anders with you –' She wanted to interrupt him but he cut her off with an impatient gesture of his hand, 'No, let me finish. I know there are not enough supplies but what if I provide for my own?' Her brows formed two perfect accolades. He produced a purse, clinking with coin.

She almost panicked. 'Oh Carver, don't tell me you have contracted a loan with the Carta –'

'I worked for it. The past week I have laboured every day in the Bone Pit. This is my week's pay, enough to buy the supplies needed for the Deep Roads.'

Marian's jaw dropped. 'You _what_?!' She had to hold on to counter not to fall from her stool in pure astonishment. 'Does it mean that much to you?' _Did I misjudge you that badly?_

'It does,' he answered gravely. 'I know what you think. That I just want to prove that I've grown up, that I'm as mature as you are. Your equal. But even if that were right – _is_ right, it's not the only reason. Look, you came with me to Ostagar to protect me even though you knew the risks. I want to return the favour. It's the least I can do. Please let me come with you, I promise I will follow your orders without questioning them.'

She pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn't know what to say so to buy time she came up with the first remark that sprang into mind. 'It doesn't solve the Mother Problem.'

Carver's expression flashed with an angry twitch but he restrained himself. He said in a rational tone, 'Must I be pampered by her for the rest of my life? Be treated as the little boy she can't be parted from? You are not concerned about what she says, you go your own way. I think it's time for me to do the same.'

'Carver,' she started, laying her hand upon his. She took a breath, letting everything he had said sink into her mind. Maker, he was trying hard! And getting results if he had been willing to be a miner to make his point. 'You are right. You proved yourself more by taking a job at the depressing Bone Pit to earn your place in the expedition than what kind of heated plea could have done. I will talk to Varric.' She gave him a wry smile. 'And yes, Mother will have to get used to two grown-ups.'

End of the story was that Carver joined the expedition to everyone's agreement, their mother had a serious seizure to no avail and two days later they marched off, hoping to return as the nouveau riche of Kirkwall.

* * *

Hawke slumped down heavily on the steps of the stairs leading to the altar, or whatever it was, where they had found that blasted idol. She waited for Varric to stop ranting about his brother.

'And now?' Carver said after the dwarf eventually had fallen silent, all his curse words being spent or more presumably because he had run out of breath.

Marian looked up. 'We ration our supplies and try to find a way out.' She turned to Anders. 'I don't suppose you know where we are and more importantly where to go for an exit?'

'I'm afraid not,' the healer replied, 'I stole the maps but I never took the time to study them properly.'

'Why did you take them anyway? Were you planning on a pleasant stroll on your own down here, have a nice chat with the Darkspawn, teaching them how to play wicked grace?'

Anders snorted. 'I just wanted to annoy the Wardens. They made me get rid of my cat, I pinched their precious maps. An act of petty revenge, I know, but it still felt good.'

Hawke automatically looked at Fenris, expecting some nasty remark but he stayed silent. To her relief both he and Anders had done their best not to step on each other's toes. They had been avoiding one another as much as possible. The occasionally shared glances weren't exactly evidence of warm friendship but at least they had buried the hatchet – up till now. Marian hoped with all her might that this new worrying situation wouldn't lead to reopening hostilities.

'I can't understand why the bloody nug-licker did this,' Varric shouted with a last kick against the very closed door. 'Hawke, you touched that blighted statue. What did you feel?'

'Even without touching it I could sense it was infused with some evil magic,' Anders muttered, 'red lyrium, that doesn't bode well.'

'It did feel strange,' Hawke had to admit, 'I don't know how to describe it. As if it wanted to tap into my mind. But you know my relation with magic and lyrium, I can't be certain. And then again, even if it was evil magic, how could it influence a dwarf? And on such short notice?'

'Red lyrium,' Anders repeated, 'I must admit I don't know much about it, but what I do know is that it's very dangerous. It plays on your fears and desires. It could even affect a dwarf. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, there is not much documentation on the subject.'

'And what about you?' Varric asked Fenris, 'you lived among Magisters, you must know something!'

Fenris put up his hands in a rueful way. 'The only lyrium I've heard of is white. Like branded into my flesh. I'm afraid I can't help you here.'

'I think it's wiser to find a way out of here instead of philosophize why Bartrand went bonkers,' Hawke said, 'we will have time enough to discuss that topic when we have returned to Kirkwall safely.'

'You are right as always,' Varric sighed, 'let's move then.'

* * *

They lost track of time while they wandered through the tunnels and caverns of the Deep Roads, fighting Dark Spawn, demons and even profanes. And everything lighted up with the eerie light of red lyrium. They were careful not to touch the stuff but inevitably the sinister illumination began to play on their mood as much as the bleak circumstances. They got tired, hungry, desperate at times and, in Hawke's case, absolutely sexually frustrated.

She struggled against it, calling herself a moron for wanting to jump Fenris, claw the clothes of his irresistible superb body and devour him. _Control yourself, remember where you are, and why. Turn your lust into anger and will of survival._ But it didn't help. It drove her completely crazy and at last she submitted. She couldn't understand why exactly this had become such an obsession amongst all the other needs, but she couldn't fight it any longer. She fell back and trailed slowly after the others, her whole body aching with want. As she had expected, it didn't take long before Fenris waited for her to catch up.

'What's wrong?' he asked anxiously 'I mean other than being lost and most likely going to perish down here?'

She grabbed his arm. 'I need you. I want you. Now. I can't take it anymore,' she hissed. She pushed her frame into his, grinding her hips against his length, feeling him growing hard in an instant. He tried to shove her away but she threw her arms around him and pressed her lips upon his.

'We can't do this here,' he croaked.

'I don't see why not.' She claimed his lips once more and he gave in, opening his mouth for her, swirling his tongue around hers. Her fingers tightened around his erect shaft which earned her a heated growl that drowned in her throat. They had to break away from each other in order not to choke and Fenris took the opportunity to cast a quick look around. Not only he noticed the others had disappeared around a bend, but also found a perfect spot. Well, decent in any way although decent was perhaps not the right word in this case. He dragged Hawke behind a huge stalactite and pushed her against a boulder. He got rid of his gauntlets and opened the fastenings of her armour. He cupped a breast, squeezing the soft flesh, rubbing his thumb over her nipple while he kissed and nibbled and bit her neck. She threw her head back, revelling in the hot feeling that his fingers, lips and teeth caused her. Just in time he caught a loud groan with his mouth, turning it into another ferocious kiss. It wasn't tender but right now she didn't want tenderness; right now she wanted brutal and unbridled passion.

'Take me,' she panted, 'for the Maker's sake Fenris, take me before I go up in flames!' He flipped her and almost in the same movement tore down her pants while he unlaced his leggings and bent her over the boulder. He didn't have to feel her wetness to know how ready she was, he could smell it and it aroused him even more though he wouldn't have thought that possible. He had been yearning for her as much as she had been for him.

He plunged into her with the craving of someone who had been lost in a desert dived into an unexpected oasis. He started a punishing pace, encouraged by the keening sounds she produced; one hand holding and kneading one of her breasts, the other trailing down her stomach until his fingers found her hard nub and played around it, over it, with it. He felt her body tremble and then go taut. It was as a volcano just before it erupted. He let go of her breast and put his hand over her mouth to stifle the strident cry she let go when her orgasm hauled her body into a wild release. And moments later bit his lip till it bled when his own peak almost knocked him out. He fell upon her and it took them several minutes to regain themselves. When he slipped out of her, she turned to kiss him with a gratified smile.

'This was wonderful, exactly what I needed,' she whispered, 'thank you.' She embraced him and pushed her face in the crook of his neck. 'Do you think they noticed?'

'Nah,' he smiled, still slightly out of breath, 'I'm sure they haven't. But we'd better catch up with them before they get suspicious.' He helped her to straighten her clothes and tie her armour again, fastened his leggings, put on his gauntlets and stole a last kiss.

They turned and faced two flustered human males and one wide grinning dwarf.

'At any other occasion I would have said "get a room",' Varric commented to Carver and Anders as if the two offenders weren't able to hear him, 'but to my dismay the Deep Roads are no inn, let alone the Hanged Man. Rooms are not available, you just have to make do with what you can get. I must give them, they where resourceful.' He clapped both men on the lower back. 'Get over it you two. I'm only surprised it didn't happen earlier.'

Marian grabbed Fenris's hand and marched past the two glaring men and the still smirking dwarf without looking at them, her head held high, her nose in the air. It was all Fenris could do to keep a straight face.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading!**

**More Deep Roads next time ... and a discovery.**


	16. Chapter 16

**First I want to thank elcafardo for the lovely review; for one reason or another I can't send you a personal message.**

**Last part of the Deep Roads, back to the AU. Again some smut in this chapter; sorry I couldn't help myself. Not too much mind you ... well, find out for yourself!**

**Enjoy! (I hope)**

* * *

Chapter 16

The rest of the day or night or whatever part of the twenty-four hours it might be, they walked in silence, Hawke gradually loosening her stiff upper lip. Now and again she caught a glimpse of mischievous merriment in Fenris's eyes and she had to admit she felt rather giddy herself. For some reason being caught in the act, to put it, by Varric, Anders and Carver had been far less dreadful than the prospect of being spied upon by DuPuis or even Isabela. The look upon their faces had been priceless. On the other hand embarrassment played its significant part in how she avoided talking or even looking at the others. Nevertheless she felt the glowering sidelong glances her brother casted at her and she didn't have to look to know that Anders was almost combusting with anger and Varric still wore that maddening smirk.

After they decided to set camp, Hawke sat down next to Carver. At first he pretended not to notice her; he rummaged around in his pack as if he was convinced he would find a hitherto concealed piece of delicious Orlesian cheese instead of just dried meat.

'Alright, just say it, I know you want to,' she said.

'Say what? That it was highly disturbing to see you two going at it like rabbits? To see my own sister being taken like a – like a ...' His voice trailed off.

'I wasn't that we invited you as spectators, you know,' she couldn't help comment.

He turned to her, his eyes ablaze. 'You weren't with us any longer; we were afraid something might have happened. To be honest, I was dead worried. Traipsing through the Deep Roads isn't exactly a nice stroll in Hightown. But instead of finding you fighting with Darkspawn, you were acting like the next brothelwench.'

'Like Faith?' she said sweetly and he looked furiously at her.

She sighed. 'You are right I guess,' she said meekly, 'and I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I wanted him so badly after all this time of continence, I couldn't-'

'Please, spare me the details. I've seen you put that want into practice. That was more than enough. I don't think I'll be able to get that out of my system any time soon.' He fidgeted with his fingers. 'Speaking of Faith, I suppose I have to thank you for not giving me away.'

Hawke grinned. 'Carver, it's so obvious that you have feelings for Merrill. What I don't understand is why you don't just tell her.'

He shrugged. 'It's hard.'

'Try giving her some flowers, you know how much she loves those. Go on a picnic. But do something instead of working off your frustrations in the Blooming Rose.' She studied her brother's face and frowned.

'Are you feeling all right?'

'As good as one can down here. Why?

'You look pale.' And not only that; there were dark lines under his eyes.

'You can tell in this light? I suppose no one looks their best at the moment. I feel tired. At the risk of sounding pathetic, I just want to go home.'

'You don't sound pathetic,' Marian said softly, 'I feel the same.'

* * *

At last they entered a room that looked artificially made. Here also the red lyrium was present as a sickly glowing fungus but the columns still bore the witness of ancient dwarven carvings. Hawke looked around while they crossed the vast space.

'This looks different from the other parts of the Deep Roads,' she remarked.

'I think this was the vault,' Varric said, 'it could well be that the dwarfs of old kept –'

Before he could end his sentence something that had seemed nothing more than a heap of rubble suddenly rose and transformed into a deadly form of living rock. But otherwise than golems, this – apparition looked as if it was built out of solitary stones, held together by an unseen force. In the middle of it all a glowing ribcage and something that might be a pounding heart could be seen.

'What the fuck!' Hawke blurted, 'living stones?!'

'Nice expression for a woman who uses a rock as a love nest,' Varric shouted back before he let loose a volley.

'You bastard!' Hawke yelled. It wasn't clear whether she addressed the dwarf or the creature but she turned it into a battle cry the moment she charged. Very soon she found out her daggers were of little use against rock. Just as Varric's bolts. Anders tried spell after spell with some result but nothing seemed to harm the creature much. Then again, he was more a healer than a battle mage. Even the deftly sword handling of both Fenris and Carver could cause little damage. And of course shades and profanes appeared to add to the bedlam.

Marian decided she had no other choice than to use her magic. It would leave her completely spent for a dangerous amount of time but she hoped to end the creature in one big blast or at least weaken it enough for the others to kill it. 'Varric, Anders, focus on the shades and other evils,' she ordered yelling, 'I will deal with this.' She jumped back a few yards and started to concentrate on the Fade, assembling as much energy she could. The moment she unleashed her spell she realised her error. She had chosen for an ice enchantment to freeze the entity and at the same time perforate it with icicles but she discovered precisely one moment too late her mistake. The same time she let loose her spell, the thing seemed to explode with electricity and it turned against her. The electricity made contact with the frozen water, used it as a conductor and sent her flying through the air. She hit the floor with force, bumping her temple on the stony underground. Everything went black in an instant.

Carver had grasped Fenris, who seemed to have gone completely berserk by the wrist and hauled the elf with him while he dived behind the broad pillar where Varric and Anders already had taken shelter to protect themselves against the explosion. Only after the blast was over the elf saw with horror his lover lying motionless in the middle of the room. He broke free from Carver's hold.

'Marian! No!' he roared. He started running to her.

'No elf!' Varric bellowed, 'First kill that thing before it finishes us all off!'

Reluctantly Fenris had to admit the dwarf was right and although every sinew in his body screamed to go to Marian, he threw himself with all his strength for a second time upon the monster, with a frenzied fury hacking at stone, trying to reach the glowing centre. It seemed to take ages, but finally the rockwraith fell apart and sort of died or at least ceased to exist.

Fenris dropped his sword and raced over to where Marian laid unmoving. Blood trickled down her face. Her eyes were closed and she looked deadly pale. He ripped off his gauntlets, fell on his knees and laid his hand in her neck, franticly searching for a heartbeat. He found none and his blood froze. He pressed his thumb on the inside of her wrist – still nothing. He lifted her head with one hand and with trembling fingers he stroke her face.

'Marian, can you hear me? Say something!' he pleaded. No reaction. His heart started hammering. 'No!' he cried out desperately, 'I won't allow it!'

The others stared in shock. Carver shoved Anders. 'Heal her!' he yelled, 'that's why you came along!'

'I, I can't, I can't bring the dead back,' Anders stuttered. But then he composed himself. That the elf thought she was gone didn't mean it was true; Fenris was no healer, he was just being hysterical.

The moment Anders started to move, Marian stirred. She let out a soft grunt and opened her eyes; Fenris sagged with relief.

'That was not the smartest thing I ever did,' she groaned. Her swimming vision became clear and her look fell upon the face hovering above her. 'Fenris? What's wrong?' He helped her to sit and dragged her in his arms. He breathed heavily, trying not to break out in tears.

'For a moment I thought ... I've never been so scared in my life,' he stammered with a chocked voice.

'What? Did you think –' He didn't let her finish but attacked her lips with a feverish kiss.

'If you need another stalactite and useful boulder, just mention it and we will find a quite place to play wicked grace until you're done,' Varric said dryly but they didn't hear him. The dwarf shrugged and wandered off, hoping to find some clue to bring them back to the surface.

'Let me take a look at that,' Fenris said, examining her bloodied temple, sniffing his emotions away.

'Perhaps I can be of use,' Anders said, carefully approaching them; you never knew if the elf suddenly decided to take the whole situation out on him. Carver followed him, anxious to know his sister was really alright.

'I'm fine,' she waved off the healer, 'nothing a good bath can't remedy. Let's go and see what Varric had discovered. I can hear his excited cries from here.' She stood up and immediately everything started to spin. She would have fallen but for Fenris who still held her. 'Bloody hell,' she groused.

'Yes, perfectly fine,' Anders said sarcastically, 'now sit down and let me examine you.'

Hawke leaned gratefully back in Fenris's arms while Anders pressed his fingers carefully around the broken skin on her temple, well aware of the suspicious looks of the elf. Marian felt the tingling sensation of healing magic floating over the spot. 'A small crack in your skull,' Anders said, 'but not all too serious. You should take some rest though.'

'Excellent advice,' Hawke sneered, 'but I don't like the idea of loafing about in this place, despite the wonderful ambience. Just hand me a healing potion. If it makes you feel better I promise I will go and lie down the moment we reach Kirkwall. Although I doubt I'll get much rest by doing that,' she added with a wicked grin. Anders cringed.

'I could carry you,' Fenris offered.

'Don't even think about it; I'm not some frail maiden!' Hawke said indignantly.

'You're certainly not a maiden,' Carver muttered under his breath.

Before Marian could react, Varric came running back. 'Didn't you hear me shout? Should I hire the Town Crier or an Orlesian party orchestra? Should I strip and dance the Remmigold naked before I get your attention? By all the demons in the Void, you're not going to believe this!'

What the dwarf had discovered was nothing less than a treasure. Besides some sort of key that could help them get out of this dreadful place, there were heaps of gold and trinkets lying around, worth a fortune.

After they were done gaping Carver breathed, 'We'll never be able to take that with us.'

'No Junior,' Varric agreed, 'we have to send more parties down here, many more but it will be worth the effort and the cost.'

'We'll take with us what we can carry,' Hawke decided, 'but don't be too greedy. Who knows how far we still have to go and gold weights a lot.'

She started to scoop up golden coins when her eye fell on a piece of leather that was revealed when she pushed aside a few gem encrusted cups. She pulled at it and brought out something that looked like a plain leather cover, folded in two. But when she opened it, it turned out to be a map. It showed drawings of plains, mountains, cities and dots that might be towns or settlements. She stared at it in puzzlement.

'Looks familiar, doesn't it,' Varric's voice sounded while he peeked over her shoulder.

'This is a map of Ferelden,' Hawke said astonished, 'what the hell is this doing here?'

'Perhaps it points to a place where we can find even more treasure?' Varric suggested.

'Yeah, right, a treasure map,' Hawke grinned mocking, 'the pirate queen starts to rub off on you.'

Varric stabbed with a stubby finger on the down right corner. 'Could be a clue.' Some scribbling could be seen but it was unreadable in the dim light.

'We'll take this with us right now and study it when we have the time,' Hawke said while she stuffed the leather map in her pack. She turned to the others. 'Like I told before, grab not too much gold, and save the rest for when we're able to retrieve it.' To her enormous relief the key fitted on the sealed doorway. 'Let's find a way out of here as fast as possible. I've had more than enough of the Deep Roads.'

* * *

Late afternoon Fenris heard her coming up the stairs of his mansion and the sound of her slow dragging footsteps already told the story before she came into his sight.

'I take it it didn't go well,' he said when she entered the room. She threw the pack she still carried on the floor and when she looked at him her face was filled with infinite sadness. He opened his arms and she walked into them.

'No. She more or less chased me away. And of course it is my entire fault.' She leaned her head upon his shoulder and he pulled her close.

'You know it isn't.'

He had suggested coming with her when she went off to tell her mother about Carver's fate but she had turned his offer down, saying she had to face this alone.

'Isn't it? Again I haven't been able to hold my promise to keep them save. Again I lost someone.' Her voice sounded tormented.

'I don't see how you could have protected Carver from the taint.' He dragged his fingers though her hair, still matted and tangled after the many weeks in the Deep Roads.

'I never should have allowed him to come with us. He should have stayed in Kirkwall.'

'Like you mentioned before, there was a big chance he would have ended up dead in that scenario. Do you think your mother wouldn't have blamed you for that? Or you yourself?'

She let out a deep breath. 'You're probably right.' He could feel she was biting back tears.

'Then stop with the "it's my entire fault" nonsense. Carver isn't dead, he is a Grey Warden now.'

'Could as well be dead if he hasn't survived that mysterious initiation ritual,' she murmured.

'I said, stop it,' Fenris said sternly. He squeezed her shoulders and continued more gently, 'I think I know what you need right now.'

She lifted her head. 'Do you now?'

'Yes.' He smiled, took her hand and led her downstairs to the washing room behind the kitchen. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the bathtub filled with steaming water and recognized the aroma of rosemary.

'You do indeed,' she beamed. She embraced him. 'I've been longing intensely for a decent bath! Oh Fenris, you're the best.' In a hurry she got rid of her filthy armour and dirty underclothes and sank with a deep grateful sigh into the hot water. She closed her eyes in pure bliss.

'There are towels and fresh clothes for when you're finished,' Fenris said, 'I'm afraid I still couldn't find other garments than the ones your mother disapproved of.'

'Perfect,' Marian said grimly.

Fenris smiled faintly, shaking his head. He was certain Leandra would come by after she had been able to cope with the blow. Of course her first reaction had been to lash out at her daughter. They looked more alike than Marian was willing to admit. He remembered plainly how she had been shouting at Anders after Carver had been guided away by the Grey Warden called Strout.

_Hawke had thumped the wall so hard that she bruised her hand but she didn't seem to care. She had turned to Anders. 'Why did you ever leave the Grey Wardens?' she had seethed, 'you see the mess the Darkspawn cause, you could do something about it. But no, you had to run away because you can't handle authority, you selfish bastard!' _

'_Er Hawke,' Varric had said tentatively, 'don't you think you're a little unreasonable? After all he saved your brother.' _

'_Saved him?' Hawke had screamed, '_saved him_?! As far as we know Carver can still die. And he won't live long anyway with that fucking taint!' Anders had looked tired and defeated but didn't speak. Even Fenris himself had felt a little uneasy. She _was_ acting unreasonable, no matter how desperate she felt._

'_If it hadn't been for Blondie here, Junior would be dead right now,' Varric had stated boldly. He had admired him for his courage. Marian had looked as if she was about to explode or knock the dwarf flat out but then she had deflated and hung her head._

'_You're right,' she had sighed, 'sorry Anders, of course you're not to blame, you did what you could. It's just ... it seems so unfair to lose both your siblings to the Blight. Another one gone I swore to protect. Damn it.' She had thumped the wall again. 'Let's move out of here. I can't wait to tell Mother the wonderful news,' she had scoffed._

_She had said little else before they had reached Kirkwall. _

Fenris shook his head again to get rid of the memory. 'And upstairs there is something to eat and the last of the Aggrigio Parvali I managed to dig out of the darkest crevices of the cellar. Would you believe there are bats living there?'

She opened her eyes. 'Have I told you that I love you? No? Then I do it now. I love you.'

He stooped over her and planted a tender kiss upon her lips. 'And I love you. Enjoy your bath.'

Half an hour later they sat before the roaring fire. It wasn't necessary in this season but a fire was always comfortable. Hawke couldn't remember she'd ever felt so content, despite her mother's breakdown and the terrible words she had thrown at her, despite her feelings of guilt about her brother. Sitting here on a blanket on the floor before the hearth, leaning against a bench before that comfy fire next to her beloved elf, bathed and clean, sharing a bottle of the most exquisite wine she had ever tasted and the small titbits she liked so much and last but not least with Fenris as her company, she felt more happy than she had ever before.

'How did you manage to accomplice all this before I came here?' she asked, 'it didn't take that long to listen to the accusations, leave the shouting behind and take refuge here.'

Fenris chuckled softly and since she was lying with her head on his chest she could feel the rich rough velvet sound in a pleasant way resonate through her body. She could hardly focus on his reply.

'I can work very fast, that's all you need to know,' he said. He wanted her to relax, not to know about the frantic way he had run through Lowtown to take a quick bath himself, bought her – and his – favourite rosemary scent by the merchant who sold it (which he had discovered times before by the way), had made a fast turnaround along the Hightown market to purchase the little bites he knew she loved and hastened to his mansion to find the last bottles of the Aggrigio and prepare her bath, all because he had anticipated the confrontation with her mother would be short and harsh. He had of course known she would be devastated, she had already been because she thought she had failed her brother and he had wanted to give her some consolation.

Lazily he untangled her damp hair with tender fingers.

'In the end you were right about taking the abomination with us. Anders. He saved your brother. He saved you.'

She hummed something incomprehensible. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head so she had to face him. 'What?'

She sighed. 'I said that you were right. Although he didn't save me. I'm very hard to kill. But I'm afraid to admit it out loud because you can illuminate your markings at that.'

_bloody hell_

'Are you so scared of me? Of my reaction?'

She gave him a lopsided smile. 'No. But I don't want a fight.'

'You won't get a – ahng'

Unexpectedly she let her fingers trail along his member while she softly nibbled at his lower lip. 'I know,' she whispered, 'but I don't even want to talk about him. Not now.' She removed his shirt and let her tongue slowly swirl around his flat nipples. She descended his taut abdomen, giving attention to each of his hard muscles while her hand slipped into his pants and loosely gripped around his scrotum. He gasped and she felt him harden. She removed his leggings and smallclothes.

''Marian,' he inhaled sharply, 'I didn't mean to, you have been through –'

'Sh love,' she shooed and she flicked her tongue around his swollen tip which made him buck. Unhurriedly she took him into her mouth, teasingly slowly sucked him while she let her fingers play with the part of his shaft her lips couldn't reach. She twirled her tongue all around his length, softly licking and delightedly tenderly grazing him. He closed his eyes and let the wonderful feeling come over him until he couldn't take it any longer. He pulled her into his arms and searched her mouth, kissing her deeply. His lips traced the path of her jaw line and lingered at the spot behind her ear. He moaned softly when he met the scent of rosemary mixed with arousal and let his tongue undergo that smell, tasting her in enchantment. He turned her on her back and kneeled between her legs. He looked into her eyes when he entered her, marvelling in every inch of her tight, soaked sheath he conquered until he filled her completely. She gasped lightly and whispered his name, looking back at him with eyes full of love. He started to move but didn't take on the usual passionate pace. Nevertheless their heights were overwhelming.

Never before had their lovemaking been so tender, never before he had experienced such an intense feeling of belonging, not before he had feared he had lost her. He wanted to hold on to her forever.

* * *

They woke in a tangle of limbs in front of a dying fire.

'Coffee?' Fenris suggested. Hawke chortled. 'You know the routine.' She leaned on her elbow when he left the room. He hadn't bothered to dress and she admired his taut behind while he walked to the stairs. 'Next time I'll make coffee for you,' she called after him. He laughed out loud. 'I hold you to that!'

When he returned with two steaming cups he found her pouring over the map she had found among the treasure in the Deep Roads. She looked up with disconcerted eyes. 'This scribbling ...' she started, rubbing the spot between her brows, 'it's my father's handwriting.' She pointed at the words in the corner she hadn't been able to read before.

Fenris carefully put down the mugs on the table. 'Are you sure?' He looked for his leggings, found them on the floor before the hearth and put them on.

'Yes. I would recognise his script anywhere. But I can't decipher the words. This must be the code Wynne talked about.' She sounded agitated. 'It may not be a treasure map, but if Father made it, or took the effort to make a note on it in his secret language, it must hold something of importance.' She put the heels of her hand into her eyes. 'If he had ever been able to tell me what he was on about, what he was working on. Oh shit.'

Fenris followed her index finger where it hovered over the map.

'This is Denerim, the capital of Ferelden, with her harbour at the Waking Sea, the Free Marches close on the other side. This is Kirkwall, see?' He saw. And his just taught reading skills gave him the ability to actually recognise the written names. 'These are the Frostback Mountains, close to Orzammar,' Hawke continued, 'the great dwarven city.'

'And Lothering,' he said softly, 'just above the Korcari Wilds.' She fell silent, wrapped up in memories. He felt her tighten and immediately regretted his remark. He let his hands rest on her shoulders and started to massage them gently.

'Brings up bad thoughts?'

She laughed shortly, leaning into his hands. 'Yes and no. You know what happened there. But despite that horrible memory, we led a good life in that village. Sometimes I still miss it.'

He leaned over to kiss the top of her head. And at the same time he noticed it. 'That place is marked with a little cross,' he pointed. Hawke's breath hitched when she followed his finger and her hackles rose. She hadn't noticed this before but just looking at the spot made her flinch although she didn't know why. The mark was put somewhere in the Frostback Mountains, not too far away from Orzammar.

'I think Wynne and Berran should know about this,' she whispered.

* * *

'This is very interesting,' Wynne said, looking at the map Marian showed her. They were gathered in the Hanged Man and the Seeker seemed to be even more ill at ease than at the picnic on the Wounded Coast. He kept roaming the place with his eyes as if he was expecting an assault. Wynne, however, acted completely at ease. She had ordered a pitcher of ale and poured four mugs. Fenris had accepted though he preferred wine and Berran had looked as if she tried to poison him.

'Interesting? I thought more distressing,' Marian answered Wynne's remark.

The mage looked up. 'Why do you say that, Serah Hawke?'

Marian took a sip of her ale. 'I'm not exactly sure. But some way or another that specific spot gives me the creeps. Frankly the whole map does. And my father's handwriting too, especially because I don't know what it means.'

'This is indeed Malcolm's script,' Wynne said pensively, 'and again in the code we still aren't able to comprehend.'

'I don't understand what this map was doing in the treasure we found. How did it end up in the Deep Roads? I can hardly imagine the Darkspawn were interested in it,' Marian said.

'Neither do I,' Berran finally interfered with the conversation. Apparently he had decided that the clientele of the Hanged Man wasn't going to kill him. At least not because of the fact he was a Seeker, about which they didn't know and couldn't care less if they had done so. 'But perhaps we found someone who can answer that question and some more. My men have located the runesmith your father was working with in Ferelden.'

'At least we think he is the one,' Wynne corrected, 'we are not certain yet. He is a topside dwarf and runs a shop in Denerim.'

'I suppose that means a trip to Ferelden,' Hawke said flatly.

'We would very much appreciate your company,' Wynne said, 'after all it is about your father.'

Hawke looked at Fenris. 'Will you come with us?'

He gave her the faintest of smiles. 'I'm your bodyguard, remember; where you go, I go.'

'How could I forget,' she mumbled.

'I suggest Berran and I will book passage for us all on the next ship heading for Denerim,' Wynne said, 'shall we meet here again tomorrow afternoon? I hope I can tell you by then when we are going to leave.' She finished her ale and rose. 'I must say, I rather like this establishment.'

'You do?' Hawke asked flabbergasted.

'Indeed I do. It's such a refreshment after the dull environment of the Circle and the ceremonial gatherings in the royal palace. I bet king Alistair would love it too.' And with that she left, with Berran in tow.

* * *

The moment Ferns turned the key in the lock of his front door he stepped back and reached for his sword.

'Someone has been here,' he said, 'or is still inside.'

Marian looked sceptical at first. 'Even Isabela didn't succeed in picking that lock,' she said but she drew he daggers even so. On second thought it was better to trust on Fenris's instinct. They crept cautiously through the hallway and up the stairs.

There _was_ someone inside. The someone was a male blonde elf. He sat on the bench before the hearth, his legs casually stretched to the fire, crossed at the ankles. He turned to them with a broad smile the moment they entered the room.

'I think we have to talk,' he said with a heavy Antivan accent.

* * *

**Not hard to guess who this male blonde haired elf is, I suppose. But a joy to bring him up; after all, who doesn't love him?!**

**Thank you for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

**This chapter was a real drag to write, if only to do Zevran justice and I can just hope I did. Besides that my internet went off and on like some sort of flashing light which drove me completely mad (in both ways). Hail to modern technology. **

**I want to thank my reviewers with a warm heart, it's because of your faithful comments I'm soldiering on.**

**And to all of you who still follow my scribbles: I also thank you intensely. It's invigorating to learn this story is still appreciated**.

* * *

Chapter 17

'Who are you?' Hawke asked, taking a threatening stance.

The unknown elf rose from the bench and bowed gracefully. 'Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zevran Arainai. I'm an assassin and former Crow member. I hail from the beautiful capital of Antiva. You know it, yes?'

'I've heard of it,' Marian said cautiously, completely taken aback. It struck her as extremely strange behaviour for an assassin to show himself so openly. She had always been under the impression that they acted by the "you-never-knew-what-hit-you" method.

Fenris trained his sword on the elf, standing half a pace before Hawke. 'Tell me one good reason why I should let you stay alive,' he said menacing.

Zevran raised his hands in a peaceful gesture but kept his radiant smile and self-confident composure. 'Because I have information you'll find very interesting, my friend.'

'I am not your friend,' Fenris emphasised with a nasty scowl, 'and you're certainly not mine. How did you get in here anyway?' He thought with some angry regret at the money Marian paid that dwarf to put an (in hind side not so) unbreakable lock on his door.

'I have mentioned I'm a former Crow, no?' Zevran said as if that explained everything. 'Let's not bore ourselves with tell-tales of my education. Let it suffice to say there is no fortress, prison let alone house I cannot break into – or out of.' He looked Hawke up and down with an appreciative glance. 'I must admit it has been a while since an assignment led me to a woman of such ravishing beauty as yours.' He gave her an intimate charming smile. 'And there are a lot of more relaxing and exciting ways of – bringing the message home than looking down the length of a striking blade.'

Marian was not entirely sure how many sexual insinuations were hidden in this one sentence but she got the feeling that this Zevran could make a simple offer for dinner sound like an invitation to participate in an orgy. He was even worse than Isabela although far more subtle. And charming. So yes, much worse. She heard Fenris let out a feral growl that clarified he also got the hidden innuendos and she laid a soothing hand on his arm, searching for something to say to prevent bloodshed. And so she said the first thing that came up to mind.

'Fenris here is my husband,' she stated without batting an eyelid, 'and he is not the sharing type. You are warned.'

Zevran didn't seem to be impressed. 'That is a true pity my friend,' he drawled, 'because there are so many means of sharing that are tremendously pleasurable.'

Fenris took a step forward. 'For the last time, I'm not your friend and I suggest you're going to explain why you are here this very moment before I change my mind and kill you after all.' His will to protect Marian had only increased after those gruesome moments in the Deep Roads he'd thought he had lost her. And the way this elf ogled her did nothing to ease that. (He doggedly called it "protect" to avoid that other appalling word).

_Husband? _Onlynow the word hit home. _What the hell?_ He almost dropped his sword.

'Shall we sit down and talk without bared weapons?' Marian said amiably, 'it's so much more peaceful that way. Would you care for a glass, er, swill of wine, Zevran? We could share a bottle. Please Fenris, put your sword away, I'm certain Zevran is not going to attack us. Or rape me.'

The Antivan elf shot her a brilliant smile. 'That, my beautiful Marian Hawke, would be the last of my intentions. And besides that, I think you should sit down anyway for what I'm about to reveal.'

Fenris knew when he was defeated. He put his sword in the weapon rack and went over to the cabinet to fetch one of the bottles of the rich flavorous Antivan red wine. It was pure coincidence he had retrieved those particular bottles from the cellar before the trip to the Hanged Man but by now it almost seemed like an omen.

When the three of them were gathered around the table, Zevran said, 'I'm here on behalf of a Magister named Danarius. I believe you know him well.'

Fenris froze. 'You are what?' His voice sounded so portentous and he looked so ominous that the temperature in the room actually seemed to drop several degrees. 'Are you trying to tell me that you act as his emissary?' He regretted highly now he had put his sword away. Hawke shot to attention but for the time being said nothing. For some reason she didn't think this fair haired elf with the mischievous twinkling in his hazel eyes had in reality any personal relationship with that Tevinter monster.

'O no no, not at all.' Zevran fluttered his hand in an elegant and convincing way. 'He doesn't even know that I know he is in fact my client. No, I had a particularly – interesting encounter with his apprentice Hadriana. She is not a stranger to you either, no?'

Fenris leant back and examined the elf on the other side of the table with cold eyes.

'I must say you behave very odd for an assassin. Do you betray all your clients like this or is it part of you tactic to lure your victims in?'

Zevran flashed him one of his bright smiles. 'I assure you, not one and a half year ago I would have acted totally differently. But to be associated with the Hero of Ferelden does intend to change you.'

Hawke, who hitherto had stayed silent, exclaimed, 'You were part of her entourage? You helped to end the Blight?!'

Zevran turned to her with a little bow of his head. 'Indeed I was, my lovely lady but that's not important right now. What is important however is that you are both in danger. Grave danger I might add.' He reached for the bottle of wine and took a sip before he continued. 'Not only is the Magister Danarius after his precious lyrium imbedded escaped slave, but also after the intriguing daughter of one Malcolm Hawke.' They both stared at him wide-eyed.

'Gascard Dupuis,' Marian said through clenched teeth. She thumped the table. 'Oh, we should have anticipated that son of a bitch would turn to him.' She had no prove whatsoever to confirm that bold statement but ever since she'd learned he had eavesdropped on them in this very mansion and Maker knows what had witnessed, she had thought him capable of anything.

'We had no reason to believe he would do that,' Fenris contradicted somewhat hoarsely, 'he is a spy for the Seekers, not for the Imperium.' He had became completely rigid by the message Danarius now also was chasing her, Hawke had noticed, but had seemed to relax somewhat. Or perhaps it was better to say he had restrained himself with great effort.

'As far as I know there is a phenomenon called counterespionage,' Hawke said darkly, 'and a bastard like him would likely act as a double agent.'

'But don't you think the Seekers would have known about that?' Fenris said. Hawke just looked at him. 'Hmm. Probably not,' he had to agree. 'If not because of him, how else Danarius could have found out?' Hawke said firmly. Fenris could think about one or two ways.

Zevran raised his eyebrows in a delicate way. 'I don't know about this Gascard Dupuis but I will tell you what I do know.' One of his flashing smiles followed his words and somehow took the sting out of the serious situation.

'Not long after the Hero of Ferelden was crowned queen and married to the lovely ingenuous but brave fool of an Alistair, I left the dull court in Denerim, intended to annoy as much Crows as possible during my travels and ended up in Rivain,' Zevran started his tale. 'I was hoping to meet a mutual acquaintance there.'

'Let me guess,' Hawke murmured, 'a certain pirate queen by the name of Isabela.'

Another flash of white teeth. 'Indeed so. We have known each other for a long time. But instead of finding Isabela, I was approached by a slender black-haired and blue-eyed woman, speaking with a slight lisp, who claimed to be from Orlais. The description sounds familiar, no?' he said to Fenris who frowned.

'Except for the Orlesian part.'

Again Zevran made one of his graceful moves with his hand. 'You are right my friend but I have to give her she played her role very well although not well enough to fool me. She tried to convince me she was an envoy of the Divine Justinia in charge of capturing a dangerous apostate who was hiding in Kirkwall. She also told me there was a small group of Tevinter secret agents, sent by the Archon himself to bring the aforesaid apostate and her lyrium marked elven lover to Minrathous. My task would be to assemble a handpicked party of assassins, ambush them outside Kirkwall, kill the Tevinters and bring the captives to Val Royeaux unharmed.'

Hawke cocked her head and said sarcastically, 'And did she explain why the Divine would rather hire a former Crow than make use of her own Templars or Seekers? She could even have Meredith have the job done.'

'Indeed she did mia bellezza. She asserted Divine Justinia didn't trust the Knight Commander of Kirkwall to hand over the apostate so willingly. And since, so she stated, it was a delicate matter, secrecy was paramount. I, of course, didn't belief half a word of what she was saying. Oh, her Orlesian accent was good but far from perfect and the way she dressed wasn't entirely proper. Little details but enough to raise my suspicion. So after I accepted the assignment and the considerable amount of money that went with it, I did some nosing about. I still have my contacts in the Crows, you see. I found out very soon the so called envoy was in fact the apprentice of the most powerful Magister in Tevinter, looking for a runaway slave and the daughter of Malcolm Hawke. But one thing she had said was true: Archon Vitellius wants to get you, my gorgeous Marian, in his grasp and indeed sent a small group to imprison you.'

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a glance and Marian noticed the tension had returned in the elf's face. It was definitely not due to "my gorgeous Marian" although, of course, she couldn't be certain.

'Why would Danarius not simply send his own men?' Hawke mused. 'Why make things complicated and take the risk of involving strangers?'

'Because he wants to beat the Archon and take over his seat as head of the Senate. As ruler of Tevinter. Using his own men would not go unnoticed in a city where every Magister spies upon the other. Such an open challenge would cause far more complications and dangers than make use of an outsider,' Fenris answered flatly. 'I don't doubt for a second that with you and me in his hands, Danarius thinks he will have the power to overthrow Vitellius. We'll have to prepare for a serious assault.'

'Ah yes, you should be very wary,' Zevran chimed in, 'but you have more time than you think.' For a moment they let sink in his words and their significant implication.

'You ... killed them?' Hawke said in astonished understanding.

'They didn't know about my existence,' he said imperturbably, ' I did however about theirs. Ah, surprise attacks are always so wonderful, especially when you have the assistance of a well skilled and charming roguish pirate queen. Imagine my delight when I ran into Isabela, here in Kirkwall of all places.'

It startled Hawke how thoroughly he had acted to save their hides and how airily he talked about it. The involvement of Isabela on the other hand didn't surprise her at all. 'How long have you been here?'

'Since yesterday, I had to hurry to arrive before the Tevinters.'

'You have been busy,' Hawke grinned.

Zevran returned her a sly smile. 'More than you think.'

Hawke shook her head. 'Yes, I already assumed you and Isabela were a perfect match in more than one way. We owe you and her a big thank you. Especially you. Why did you go through so many struggles to warn two people you didn't even know? You could just have taken the money and run.'

For a moment Zevran became serious. 'I hate the Tevinters and what they inflict on people, mostly elves. I fought one of their slaver enterprises in the Alienage in Denerim with the Hero; I saw what they did there. It was enough to never want to help them in whatever way. Only to thwart them were possible.'

Fenris looked at him intensely. 'Then perhaps you are a friend after all,' he muttered a little reluctantly.

After a short silence Marian asked, 'Did you know, by the way that there is another member of your, how shall we call it, Blight-fight band here in Kirkwall?'

'I'm aware of that and I hope to meet her again, Wynne is a friendly and fascinating lady.' He stood. 'And with that I take my leave.'

'What are you planning to do now, Zevran?'

'Is this a question out of interest, or an invitation maybe?'

'You can always dream,' Fenris smiled. Zevran laughed a dazzling laugh. 'Indeed we can. For now I'm dreaming of the same things as you: freedom, staying safe and a warm bed with – appealing company. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, I've decided to stay for a while.' And with that he was gone.

* * *

'Husband?'

Hawke chuckled. 'Of all the things that have been said you pick out that one word?'

He got up from his chair and started to pace. 'Marian, I'm not even sure how to call this, this, what we have together.'

'Relationship?' she proposed, 'it's a term that can be interpreted in many a way.'

He missed the sudden icy undertone in her voice. He gave her a wan smile. 'I'm trying very hard not to be possessive and am almost succeeding in convincing myself that I just want to protect you from harm instead of rip out the throat of anyone who looks at you in the wrong way and you start throwing around words like "husband" and "not the sharing type". You're not making it any easier.'

She got up also. 'I just wanted to make very clear there would be no playing around. I wasn't insinuating anything. But if I suffocate you then perhaps I should leave you on your own for a while so you can figure out _what we have together_.' She almost spat those last four words.

There was no missing that tone and he suddenly got the nasty feeling something was very wrong. 'What? No! That's not what I meant!' He stopped his roaming around so abruptly his bangs blinded him for a moment before he wiped them aside.

'What _did_ you mean, Fenris?' And now she sounded outright dangerous. It made him terrible nervous.

'It's just that I'm not used to, to ...' He took a step towards her.

'Being cared for? Being loved?' she threw at him. 'Yes, we established that quite a time ago. I didn't expect you to adapt immediately, as a matter of fact I'm surprised you got as far as you did in such a short time. But if you are getting cold feet, just say the word and I'm out of here.' She made a move to spin and run off.

Now it was his turn to get angry. 'Will you stop jumping into conclusions, woman, and listen for once!' he shouted. She halted and fell silent, bewildered by his heatedly uttered words. 'I've seen the other side of love by now. Not only the jealousy and possessiveness but also the fear of losing.' He took a gulp of air. This was difficult, very difficult but he had to tell her this. 'You scare me to death, the way I need you, the way I can't even breath without you, the awful way it frightened me when I thought you were gone, the way I can't simply live without you. And to make it all worse and more complicated, now Danarius is after you too.'

She decided to ignore that last remark for now. All the other words were confusing enough. In one way they made her feel warm, in another it gave her the unsettling impression ice was trickling down her spine. 'Does this mean you want to take a step back?' she asked with a very small voice, 'keeping more distance?'

He chortled mirthlessly. 'Belief me, I've tried and failed gloriously. No, that is not what I want.'

'Then why did you say you can't even call what we have?' She felt desperate and utterly shaken by now.

He tried to calm down. So that's what she was upset about. Or perhaps insecure. That thought struck him, that she might be as frightened as he was, despite her big mouth. After all she also had a twisted history. He closed the distance between them. He cupped her face and traced her eyebrow with a finger. 'Because I really don't know. Because I've never experienced this before. How would you call it? What do you expect?'

She tried a little smile. 'If it makes you feel any better, I'm scared too. I pledged to myself I wouldn't fall in love and here I am, loving you like hell. And yes, afraid to lose you. And not only in a battle. But also because of some stupid thing I say to drive you away, or because of your scattered memories getting the best of you and make you flee from me as yet. Or you getting too unselfconfident and backing away. You name it.' She tried with herculean force to back down tears. 'But what I do know is that I feel safe with you. You make me feel like I finally have found a home. In this ruin of a house you are my home. I however never wanted to push you –'

His lips brushed hers. 'You never did. I pushed myself.' He pulled her close to him, claiming her lips with more force. He felt deeply moved by her words, so matching his own fears, and even more moved because she told him she felt at home with him. Home, such an alien concept, even for her if he grasped her words in the way she had meant them. Not a place you lived in, but a place to feel safe. And she had stated he was her home. He could hardly absorb the significance. Didn't dare.

'I admire your honesty even though sometimes you blurt out the strangest things but please don't change that. I will try to be honest also, or perhaps open is the better word. Just promise me one thing.' She just hummed. 'For the Maker's sake, stop hurling yourself into the fray of a fight, every time you do that my heart stops beating.'

She laughed softly and the resonation made him shiver. 'I don't make that promise unless you do the same. You also have the nasty habit of twirling yourself into the heat of a battle.' 'Only to protect you from your own lethal enthusiasm,' he mumbled. 'I'll keep that in mind. And now, please kiss me.'

'We should talk about Danarius –'

'Later. Now kiss me.'

And he did. And much more.

* * *

Somewhere during the night Fenris woke with a blood curdling scream. His heart was hammering and he was covered with sweat. Alarmed Hawke flew up. 'Fenris!' He drew her in a crushing embrace and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder. His breath was wild and ragged. She let her fingers trace through his soft moonlike hair, more tousled than ever and her hand gently caressed his back.

'It's all right Fenris,' she whispered, 'I'm here, it was but a dream. I'm here my love.' He had had nightmares before but never this bad and it seemed to take ages before he calmed down somewhat. When his uncontrolled panting finally had reduced to a shuddering breath now and again, she said, 'I'll get you some water. Or wine if you prefer that.' She started to get out of the bed.

'No! Stay, don't go.' He clung unto her like a vice, a panicked expression on his face. She sank back in his arms, holding him as soothingly as she could. Only now she realised he had screamed out her name and with a jolt of fury she understood. That _monster_. The things Zevran had told them only hours before. Fenris's immense fear to lose her. It wasn't difficult to put those things together to comprehend this new nightly torture.

'Danarius has to die,' she said determinedly.

'I will kill him,' he croaked. 'He will never touch you.' He cringed. Only very slowly the horrible images of his dream subsided. Danarius dragging her by magic subdued helpless naked body in his arms, then forcing her on all fours and taking her from behind, pounding into her like a rutting animal with cold passion, all the while looking at him with a demonic grin. And he was powerless to act; either because he was tied up in some way or paralysed by terror he didn't know. And then her slender frame lying on a stone slab, her screams of agony while Danarius made deep cuts in her skin until she bled out. That was the moment he at last had been able to rip himself out off this nightmare. 'I will kill him,' Fenris repeated. He laid his hand on her chest and closed his eyes. He concentrated on her heartbeat, her warm breath on his face, her soft skin touching his, the faint scent of rosemary, her fingers tenderly stroking his body until he found his calm again.

'I know I promised to be more open but I can't talk about this,' he whispered.

'You don't have to,' she assured him, 'I have a lively imagination and I don't even think I want to know. Don't torment yourself, you've gone through enough.'

He opened his eyes and looked at her. 'I'm sorry.'

'For what? It is that deformed mind, that incarnation of evil that does this to you. You never asked for it, you're not to blame.'

'Let's get out of bed, I won't be able to sleep anymore,' he shivered. 'Neither will I,' she agreed.

They got dressed and went down to the kitchen where Fenris made coffee. Hawke offered to perform that task this time, but he had declined. The simple chore helped to put his mind at ease. It was still dark outside although the eastern sky began to turn into a shady hue of bluish purple, announcing the coming dawn. Hawke had opened the backdoor to let in the cool early morning air and it didn't take long before the first birds somewhat hesitantly started their song. They sat down at the kitchen table and sipped their coffee.

'I'm glad we are going to Ferelden,' Fenris said, 'we'll be out of Tevinter's reach for a while, both the Archon's and Danarius's. Perhaps we can find a method to get them off our backs permanently.' He didn't sound very convincing and she told him so. He snorted. 'We could come up with something useful to put Danarius down but I'm afraid that short from starting a war there is little we can do to stop the Archon.'

'A war no less, you worry too much. We'll put an end to that Archon's idiotic ambition, you'll see,' Hawke said pugnaciously, 'and who knows what we'll discover in Ferelden. It could be something that solves all of our problems.'

'I truly hope so but that seems a bit too optimistic.'

* * *

After breakfast they left the mansion to visit the Hightown market. Hawke had announced she wanted to purchase a new outfit for their trip to Denerim. Her armour, repaired several times over already, had suffered greatly in the Deep Roads and so had her daggers. To her surprise Fenris slipped his hand in hers while they crossed the streets and squares and she revelled in the reactions of the snobby nobility. Some looked at them with outright disgust and Hawke answered those looks with open defiance. On the other hand there were lots of women who stared at Fenris with longing glances to turn their eyes on Marian with menacing jealousy.

'I enjoy this very much,' she giggled.

'Really? I don't like the way I attract all that attention.'

'Oh yes, you do stick out, in a brutally handsome way. Ladies enough who want to snatch you away from me. But give me some credit too.'

'I humbly apologise I completely overlooked the influence of your beauty,' he smiled teasingly.

'I _meant_ that half of those snooty nobles take offence in the way I walk so openly with my elven lover through their territory. I love that. But thank you for the compliment.'

When they reached the Keep, she saw suddenly out of the corner of her eye a well-known figure descending the Viscount's Way. She halted Fenris. 'My mother,' she said. Leandra spotted them at the same time. She seemed to hesitate but then picked up her pace until she was at level with them. Fenris let go of Hawke's hand.

'Marian,' she greeted her daughter in a somewhat awkward way. She ignored Fenris completely.

'Mother,' Marian greeted her back, 'did you have a meeting with the Viscount? Did he respond your petition on this short notice?'

'Indeed he did. Apparently the Amell name still carries some importance in this city although I must confess that the Guard Captain has been a great help in getting an appointment.'

'Aveline?' Hawke said surprised, 'then she must have gone behind Seneschal Bran's back. He will be fuming when he finds out! Have you been able to achieve something?'

'As a matter of fact I did. Viscount Dumar has signed the papers to return the estate to us.'

'That's wonderful news.' Marian tried to sound as enthusiastic as she could manage. Both she and her mother turned to look at the estate, not twenty yards away. It looked almost as dilapidated as Fenris's mansion. 'It will take of course a lot of work before it is re-established in the old glory and can be inhabited again,' Leandra sighed.

'So it seems,' Hawke mumbled.

'Marian,' Leandra started uncertain. She casted a sidelong glance upon Fenris. He immediately understood. 'I will go to the market,' he told Hawke, 'to see if that merchant still has that pair of daggers your mind is set upon. Lady Amell,' he nodded courteously.

When he was out of earshot Leandra said, 'Are you living permanently with ... that elf now?'

"_He has a name, Mother_," Marian almost snapped but changed her mind when she caught the sad tone of her mother's voice. 'Apparently so,' she replied tentatively.

'Marian, I ...' her mother took a step forward and suddenly took her hands in hers, 'I'm so sorry I yelled at you the way I did. About _what_ I yelled. You didn't deserve my anger. I'm certain you did everything to protect your brother. I know Carver was determined to go, no matter what, and neither you nor I were able to stop him.' She scoffed. 'He undoubtedly would have gone after you on his own and who knows in what sort of trouble he would have ended up in.'

'It's all right, Mother, I understand.'

'No, I want to say this. It is not your fault and I was a cruel fool to blame you. I hope you can forgive me.'

Hawke gave her mother a wan smile. 'You know, I have been shouting at Anders in more or less the same way after Carver had been taken away by those Grey Wardens. That's why I understand. We were both overtaken with grief and the desperate feeling of being powerless. Of course I forgive you. The same way Anders forgave me.'

Leandra embraced her daughter with a sigh of relief. 'Thank you. I may not always show it, but I'm proud of you and I do love you.'

'And I love you to. But don't forget Carver hasn't died in the Deep Roads. Being a Grey Warden is serving a just cause. We both have witnessed at firsthand how much destruction the Dark Spawn bring. He will fight against that threat. You should be proud of him also.'

Leandra let go of her and turned once more to her old home. 'You are right. It's just so hard to accept I will never see him again.'

'You don't know that.'

'I hoped so hard the three of us one day would live in that house together. Oh well, it's no use to keep whining I suppose. Would you ... would you care to have dinner with me tonight? You and – Fenris? I'm afraid I've been awfully rude to him.'

Marian almost chuckled. _He's had worse._ She swallowed those words too.

'I would love to, Mother, and I'm sure Fenris won't object. Besides that, I have to tell you something.' Leandra's eyes flew open with utmost panic and Marian realised what she must be thinking. She couldn't help laughing out loud. 'No, I'm not pregnant! But I'm afraid I'm going away for a while. Again.'

Leandra started to protest but Hawke cut her short. 'Nothing that dangerous this time.' And how that would be proved to be wrong. 'Just a trip to Denerim. It has to do with father, about what we talked about before I went on that expedition. Don't worry. I'll tell you the details tonight.' A sudden inspiration struck her. 'And I want you to meet someone, someone who knew father even before you did.'

She was certain her mother would like Wynne and that the Fereldan mage would be diplomatic enough to convince Leandra of the importance and save character of their quest. And not talk about her infatuation. They said their goodbyes with the promise of the meeting that very evening.

She joined Fenris in the market place where he was nonchalantly leaning against a column in that elegant way that made her breath hitch. In that way that made her want to drag him back to the mansion and make mad love to him until they were both utterly spent. She sneaked up on him and whispered in his ear, 'There should be a law against looking as devastating irresistible as you do.' If he was surprised by her sudden appearance, he didn't show it. He smiled crookedly, snaked an arm around her waist and caught her lips in a short but scorching kiss. She was overwhelmed he showed his affections so easily in public. The public stood agape.

'If you are still interested, the daggers are yet available,' he said casually as if nothing had happened, 'I hope your encounter with your mother went well?'

'It did,' she said breathless, 'we are invited for dinner. And she apologises for the way she tried not to take notice of your existence.'

He chortled with that rough velvet voice flavoured with dark molten sugar and the images of incredibly hot sex she in the mean time did had experienced. It made her body quiver and her knees almost buckled. _You, you evil charm of an elf. Don't act as if you don't know what kind of effect you have on me._

'She doesn't know much about my past, does she.'

Not interested in the daggers after all, she managed to march back to the mansion, with a Fenris who was hardly able to cover his grin in tow. They were stared after by several incredulous looking eyes but she couldn't care less.

* * *

**I have the feeling this chapter is some kind of emotional rollercoaster, perhaps due to my frustrations with all the electronic failures. Sorry about that.**

**Next stop Denerim.**

**And of course thank you so much for reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

**I'm so sorry for the delay but, well, life happened. A lot of it in fact. But I'm here again. Hope you like what I wrote. Oh, by the way, smut again. Sorry for the ones who don't like that.**

**So here is the next chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 18

It was a beautiful early summer's day in Val Royeaux, the capital of Orlais. The sun was shining bright in a blue sky where just a few wisps of clouds were floating on a mild breeze. But the lovely weather wasn't the reason why the Divine Justinia had decided on a walk in the vast gardens that lay between the Chantry and the Holy Palace. It was the only place one could be as good as certain no unwanted ears would be able to overhear a confidential conversation. She was in the company of Baron Villefranche and he was the Head of the Seekers. They met occasionally, mostly when something important had occurred that Villefranche could not keep away from her. She had her own means to find things out and if he tried to hide information she deemed vital to know she could take drastic measurements. Like ruining him and his family. After all she carried more power than Empress Celine.

'I understand you have news of great import?' Her voice was low and warm as always. People who dealt with her for the first time often mistook it for hearty which was a great error. She wasn't cruel, far from that, but her position didn't give her the opportunity of being compliant either. Sometimes she had to be harsh.

'I do, your Holiness.'

'We are at a safe distance from inquisitive ears by now, so start talking.'

'It is about the Marquis Albert Berran, the Head of the Special Assignment Section.'

Divine Justinia made an impatient gesture with her hand. 'I know who he is, no need to explain. What about him?' She had stopped beside a bed of crimson roses that had just started to bloom.

Villefranche cleared his throat delicately. Of course she knew who he was; it was a public secret she and Berran had been lovers for several years although he was wise enough not to mention that knowledge. He suspected she still had a soft spot for him but she was the Divine and the Divine would always the interest of the Chantry prevail over personal feelings. So he decided for the direct approach which she preferred anyway.

'I have every reason to believe Albert Berran is overstepping his boundaries,' he said bluntly, 'in such a way that it can be a danger to us all.'

She lifted her brows a millimetre. "Reason to belief ..?'

Villefranche pondered that despite her age – she was well over fifty years now – those intelligent, striking eyes still made her look young. And unfathomable, so dangerous. Besides that they could turn into burning rays in an instant and frighten the guts out off a seasoned warrior.

'I hope you are not trespassing on my precious time to tell me about mere suspicions?'

'Of course not, ma'am. We have a witness.'

The brows were raised another millimetre. 'And how reliable is that witness?'

'He has everything out of first hand –'

She interrupted him. 'No Baron, I'm referring to the methods you used to obtain the information.'

He hesitated a moment. 'We had to take him into custody to interrogate him.'

She looked at him with those unreadable eyes but he thought he saw a small glimmer of irritation. Every minute now her eyes could change into to those feared soul crushing beams. 'You are accusing the Marquis Albert Berran on the basis of torture.'

Villefranche had anticipated this and said smoothly, 'No ma'am, the witness is being held in an apartment where he has all sorts of luxury at his disposal and no one has laid a finger upon him. Sometimes gentleness with just the slightest hint of a threat combined with a bigger hint of a generous reward turns out to be the right leverage we need to learn what we want.'

(Gascard DuPuis had gone through all kinds of emotions; from bafflement when he got arrested the moment he set foot in Val Royeaux, via mortal fear when he was dragged to the Seeker's Headquarters for reasons he didn't understand, through a cautious rise of hope after he was ushered into an opulent apartment, to sagging relief when he found out what was expected from him. He decided he didn't owe Berran anything and was more than willing to spill all the beans to save his own skin.)

The Divine stooped over the flowerbed to inhale the heavy sweet scent. 'Then enlighten me. And don't withhold anything.'

Villefranche told her every bit of information DuPuis had shared about the strange mage called Marian Hawke. 'In case you wonder why we were so certain this DuPuis was involved that we arrested him,' he added, 'we know from our own man in Kirkwall he had a few meetings with the Marquis there.'

'He is his agent, isn't he ...' the question hovered in the air.

'Yes, in Minrathous. He hadn't been in Kirkwall for over a year and that visit was only to check on the abandoned family mansion. And Berran had never before set foot in that city. Why should he, nothing of interest ever happen there, with Knight Commander Meredith in charge. And suddenly the two of them turn up in the City of Chains, having secret meetings together in a warehouse at the Docks in the company of the Fereldan First Enchanter. Quite suspicious.'

'My, boring Kirkwall must have become an exciting place all of the sudden,' the Divine said dryly. She resumed her stroll and the Baron followed.

'Our man has been having a busy time,' he agreed.

'Indeed, the spying abilities of the Seekers, even amongst yourself, are legendary,' the Divine remarked sarcastically, 'apparently you trust no one, not even your own kind.'

'That is because no one _can_ be trusted,' Villefranche answered sincerely, 'as is illustrated by what Berran has been up to.'

Divine Justinia ignored these last words but Villefranche wasn't fooled. She would return back on them.

The path they followed split in two to go around an ornamental marble fountain. In the middle on a pedestal stood a statue of Shartan in a warlike stance, surrounded by his most trusted warriors. At their feet lay the heads of slain demons, squirting water out of opened jaws. 'I always liked this tableau,' the Divine mused, 'it's so refreshing to see the deeds of Shartan are remembered now and again. Sometimes I get so tired of the omnipresent Andraste. As if she could have accomplished the whole rebellion on her own.' She moved a hand through the cool water rippling in the basin. Villefranche didn't comment. He knew she was mulling over his given information and waited for her reaction.

'So, a mage without mana and no access to demons. That is – interesting,' she said pensively, as expected, 'I wonder how she manages.'

'I take it your Holiness is aware of the dire consequences ..?'

'Yes, Baron, I'm well aware of those,' she reacted somewhat prickly. 'And I think so is Berran. Instead of accusing him of overstepping his boundaries, you should think it is well possible he wants to take this intriguing girl to Val Royeaux.'

'If that was his intend, he would have done so already. Instead he is, as we speak, on his way to Denerim with her, her lover and the Fereldan mage,' Villefranche played his trump card. But if she was shocked, her face didn't show it.

'You haven't considered the possibility that in Denerim, or somewhere else in Ferelden, lays the answer to the mystery? That he went there to solve the conundrum before he reported back?'

'No. He may be the Head of the Special Investigation Department, I'm his superior. And he knows very well that he is not to go behind my back, especially not in a case of such extreme importance as this one.'

Divine Justinia pursed her lips. She looked ahead in the distance and absentmindedly dried her fingers on her costly brocade robes. 'Very well, Baron, take the measurements you deem necessary. And be quick about it.' Villefranche took a deep bow. 'And Baron, see to it the Marquis stays alive. I want to interrogate him myself.'

He hesitated. A protest fought its way out but just in time he thought the better of it. 'Very well. And what about DuPuis?'

'Send him back to Minrathous. As far as I can see he is a weasel but a useful one. It would be a waste to kill him.'

'As your Holiness wishes,' Villefranche murmured. With another bow he retreated and hurried back to the Seeker's Headquarters. He had to make haste to beat the Tevinters; the critical problem would become an outright disaster if they acted first.

The Divine Justinia stared after him with an unveiled sadness in her eyes that would have startled him. With a heavy heart she went to the Chantry to light a candle. A Divine had hardly room to believe, only room to reign. But now she wished she could wholeheartedly believe Albert Berran would act as the straightforward trusty man as she knew he was and the discovery he had made would not turn against him and the rest of the world as Villefranche was convinced of.

* * *

Hawke started to regret she had allowed Isabela to come with them the moment they set sail. She was certain she would have enjoyed the sea trip much more if it hadn't been for her. She had thought she would go to Denerim with only Fenris, Wynne and the Seeker but the pirate queen had been adamant to accompany them and she could be very persuasive.

'Sweetness,' she had said, 'I'm bored to shreds here in this dull city and am dying to visit the Pearl again. I like the Rose of course but the Pearl has its own – characteristic splendours. Besides that, you can't go to sea and leave me behind. The sea! Think about it! The crying of the gulls in your ears, the prickling sensation of the salt spray on your skin, the sound of the wind in the sails and the creaking of the rigging ...'

'Alright, alright, I get the message! You can come!' Hawke had given in to her plea which obviously meant that Zevran would be present also because since their reunion Isabela and the Antivan elf had been inseparable. Marian had made a bet with Varric about how long this infatuation would last they both observed with amused interest. And speaking of the dwarf, he too was travelling with them; not only to keep an eye on his wager but mostly to document all the adventures his heroine would encounter. Hawke doubted their stay in Denerim would involve epic battles, narrow escapes and daring rescues but Varric had insisted that there were Hawke went, trouble would follow. She hadn't been able to deny that, it had been proven to be the truth more times than she cared to count.

It had taken almost a week to make preparations and book passage on a ship bound for Denerim but finally they were ready to go. Of course Isabela, with Zevran in tow, came running up the gangplank not a moment too early and soon after that the problems began. Isabela was used to be in command on board a ship and automatically started to boss the crew around which got her in no time into a terrible row with the actual captain of the vessel. He even accused her of trying to start a mutiny and threatened to throw her overboard. Only after a lot of shouting and Hawke confronting Isabela with how she would have felt if someone had try to interfere with her authority, the pirate subsided and swallowed her pride. She replaced it with sulking and bickering with everyone about the smallest things. Even Hawke's threat to tie her up until she'd calm down, had not the desirable effect. Instead of answering with the usual sexual teemed quip, Isabela had reacted with a dark scowl. And Varric's remark she had taken over the role of Fenris being the brooding one had turned that scowl into a murderous glance.

'I need a ship of my own,' she wailed ever so often, 'how can I be a pirate captain without a ship of my own?!' Hawke was grateful for Zevran's presence; he at least had some positive influence on the pirate queen. With him around Isabela could blow off some of her frustration beneath deck. And between those enterprises he managed to soothe her by whispering things into her ear Hawke couldn't hear and didn't want to hear. Thankfully, and most probably due to the incomprehensibly words spoken in that sugary Antivan accent, during the journey the complaining lessened although a generous amount of stress lingered. The rest of them amused themselves with playing wicked grace and diamondback, drinking rum and listening to Varric's colourful stories. Even the Seeker seemed to relax a little although no one could catch him on showing a real smile.

One night Hawke stood at the rail, flanked by Fenris who had wrapped his arm around her waist. 'Beautiful, isn't it,' he said, referring to the white moonlight reflecting in the rolling waves, scattering and recoiling in a trail that seemed to follow the trace of the ship. 'Yes,' Hawke agreed, 'just like the colour of your hair.' She leaned against his shoulder. One hand went up to ruffle through his bangs to emphasise her tender spoken words but he wasn't fooled. He could feel she wasn't completely at ease.

'What's bothering you?'

She looked surprised. 'How can you tell something is bothering me?'

Fenris chuckled softly. 'I know you, Marian. I see when your smile is genuine or not, if there are traces of worry in your face even though you try to hide it. I can feel it in the tension of your body. I feel clearly this very moment that something _is_ bothering you. So, are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?'

Hawke sighed. No use to deny; he _did_ know her well. 'It doesn't sit well with me I left Mother on her own. Maker knows what will happen. Tevinters could show up, followed by Seekers or the other way around.'

Fenris had anticipated this, after all the loss of her father and sister weighed still heavy on her conscious and losing her brother to the Grey Wardens in the Deep Roads didn't help to ease her mind but he was sure his bird of prey had some more surprises upon her sleeve. He would await them while he smoothed down this particularly anxiety. 'Aveline will keep an eye upon her. And your mother is not alone. She has servants now. A stout dwarf who has travelled with the Hero of Fereldan of all people and his adopted son who can do very interesting things with runes. A pity he and your father never got the chance to meet. And Alrond stayed with her. She might as well have locked herself inside a fortress with an army to protect her.'

Despite her worries Marian had to laugh. The two dwarves had been part of the expedition and after they had saved Sandal – although Hawke was convinced the strange young dwarf had been fully capable of saving himself – Bodahn had got it into his head he owed her a debt. He had insisted to pay of that debt to become her manservant. Or rather Leandra's manservant since she couldn't imagine the two dwarves circling around Fenris and her in the elf's mansion. Strictly speaking she owned the Amell estate and official lived there. So she had directed them to her mother who was very pleased with them. She became serious again.

'It's not just my mother. I can't stop thinking about Sandal's behaviour when he is around me. He all but jumps up and down, exclaiming "Enchantment!" every time I show my face. Although I like the little dwarf, it's making me feeling uncomfortable, like he knows something I only suspect. Being the fraud I told you I'm afraid I am.'

Fenris squeezed her side which almost made her jolt. She was ticklish but Maker forbade he found out. 'He does that with everybody who enters the house. It's practically the only word he knows. Don't read any importance in it.'

'He knows the words "pie" and "cinnamon bums" very well too.'

'So he has a healthy appetite besides a great knowledge of runes and what to do with them. Please, love, don't tire yourself with worries that aren't necessary.'

'But what if I turn out to be a real mage.' She looked away, swallowing down her anxiety with effort.

'You are a real mage.'

'A harmless one.'

'I'm quite certain a lot of dead thugs think differently.'

She slapped him lightly on his shoulder. 'That's not what I meant and you know it, you you _elf_!'

'So you finally found out. I wonder what gave me away.' She slapped him once more. 'Stop that! I don't think you are taking me serious.'

'On the contrary. I have the nasty feeling you are still afraid I will leave you when you turn out to be that so called fraud. I thought I made it clear that won't be the case.'

'If I say "I am", will you scold me?'

'Definitely.'

Hawke sighed. 'It's not only that. I've never learnt to deal with demons, I don't know what I will do if they start to harass me –'

'That's enough Hawke,' Fenris cut her off, 'you're a strong woman and besides that too stubborn to fall for a demon's promise. You would only yell ferociously at them and chase them back into the Void where they without any doubt would crouch into a corner to avoid your wrath. Probably with their claws over their ears and their eyes firmly shut.'

'Don't call me Hawke.'

'I will call you Hawke every time you annoy me with your idiotic fears and I'll continue doing so until you're convinced of your strength.'

'You really have great confidence in me.' But despite her uncertainties she had to smile.

He brushed the top of her head with his lips. 'I do and not without reason. You withstood _me_.' Marian giggled and he squeezed her side again and this time she couldn't help letting out a yelp. He laughed. 'This is good to know.' Before she could protest he silenced her with a warm kiss.

They turned their interest back to the white trail of the moon in the water.

'My hair ...?' Only now her comment got through to him.

'Yes. No one told you your hair is like the mid-night moon? It's really wonderful, if not irresistible.' And again she pulled her fingers through his soft locks to emphasize her observation.

'I'm not aware, no. But do continue your ministrations,' he chortled. He realised that one of the reasons he loved her so much was because of these unexpected astonishing and seemingly so easy uttered remarks that never ceased to knock him off his feet. He wanted so much to return that feeling, He fastened his grip.

They were joined by Wynne. Somewhat exasperated they let go of each other.

'I never got the chance to ask, Serah Hawke, but have you ever been to Denerim before?'

'Just once,' Marian said, 'but I was very young back then; I don't remember much of it.'

'Perhaps that's better,' Wynne said, 'I'm afraid you wouldn't recognise the capital after what the Blight has done to her. Most of the city was turned into a fierce battleground; almost half of the buildings burned down or collapsed. They are still rebuilding. But as far as I know the tavern the Gnawed Noble has been restored. It has always been a respectable place, that's where we'll stay, except of course you want to go to the Pearl, just as Isabela and Zevran,' she added with a little twinkle in her eyes.

'No thank you,' Hawke grinned, 'I'm not that eager to find out what those characteristic splendours are. But aren't you going to stay in the royal palace?'

'No. Remember this mission is a very delicate one, the less people know about it the better. Berran was already upset that you told your friends about it.' She raised a hand. 'Yes, I believe they are trustworthy but even I can only hope they still will be after a few drinks. I don't want to involve the king and queen also, neither have I the intent to lie to them about my presence in Denerim. So I'm staying at the Gnawed Noble as well.' She studied Hawke for a couple of moments. 'You're not disappointed you won't meet the king and his Queen the Hero?'

Hawke shook her head. 'To be honest, the thought didn't even cross my mind. Oh, I won't deny that a meeting with the Hero sounds appealing, but I can do without royalty. I have enough on my mind at this moment.'

Wynne smiled. 'Take it from me that both Alistair and the Hero aren't acting like your average royalty. As a matter of fact I'm not quite sure which of those two loath the court rules more. But who knows, perhaps there will be an opportunity to meet them when all this is over and solved.'

* * *

The next afternoon they disembarked in Denerim's harbour. To Hawke's great relief Isabela's mood changed immediately. She and Zevran took off for the Pearl with the promise to visit them the following day. Hawke, Fenris, Varric and Berran went along with Wynne who led the way through the streets to the Market District.

The city was indeed still recovering from the damage the Blight had caused and seemed to exist mostly of scaffolds. Piles of bricks were lying around together with stacks of wood.

'I've always been told Ferelden smelt like wet dogs, but it turns out it smells like fresh cut wood, cement, wattle and clay,' Varric recommended.

'Did you really think a whole country smelt like wet dogs? Like there are more war hounds than people around? I thought you were less gullible than that,' Hawke laughed, 'it's just a prejudice Kirkwall population came up with when the refugees turned up.'

'I know that, my dear heroine. I'm only not sure if the dog smell or the lack of it will fit better into my story.'

They spent a quiet evening in the Gnawed Noble that was everything Wynne had promised; the proprietor Edwina had done all it took to restore the tavern into its former glory which involved clean bedrooms and a nice place to ate the food that was surprisingly good. Hawke and Fenris excused themselves early, feeling the attraction of a room for themselves alone after all the time having to stay on a cramped ship. Not moments after they entered their private space he almost attacked her and pinned her down on the bed.

'You're mine now,' he growled. And made it all true.

When she woke, hours later, she still felt his frame pressed against hers and his arm wrapped around her waist. She let out a sigh of deep contentment.

'Fenris?' she whispered.

'Hmm?' he murmured, slowly coming out of his sleep.

'Am I dreaming?' He opened his eyes.

'No,' he chuckled, 'or if you are, I am also.' He kissed her bare shoulder and moved his hand upwards to cup her right breast, softly pinching her nipple.

'Oh yes,' Hawke groaned and he felt himself harden against her buttocks. Just the sound of her voice could do that. She pushed her behind against his shaft. 'I want you,' she panted. He didn't need more encouragement and slid into her already drenched centre while his fingers wandered from her nipple to her swollen nub to rub her. She shifted slightly to give him better access and he pounded harder and faster in her until he felt her peak come around his member and he emptied himself inside her. They both shivered in the aftermath.

'What a wonderful way to start the day,' she chortled, 'rhyme not intended.' He turned her in his arms and kissed her lips.

'Good morning,' he smiled.

'And a good morning it is, 'she smiled back. He got out of bed and started to dress himself.

'What are you doing?' she asked alarmed, working herself up on her elbows. He grinned reassuringly,

'Don't worry, I'm getting you coffee in bed. Strong and black, if I'm not mistaken.'

Not moments later he returned, two steaming mugs in his hands. He looked at her, sprayed naked over the bed, her head resting in her hand, one leg alluring crossed over the other, her disarrayed long honey coloured hair cascading over her back, a tempting look in her sapphire eyes, her firm breasts bare, challenging him. He got rid of the mugs, flaying them on the side table, the hot liquid sloshing all over the surface. He didn't pay attention to that dark brown carnage but just jumped upon her, pinning her hands above her head, kissing as if his life depended upon it. She flipped him, panting his name, softly nibbling his lower lip.

'I know by now you ticklish,' he grinned, pressing his fingers into her side.

'And you will pay for that,' she promised, biting hard and almost drawing blood. He groaned. She ripped the shirt and smallclothes from his frame and took his rapid hardening length in her hand. She revelled in the way he responded, in how wonderful he felt.

'I don't know if you can call it ticklish but I bet you are responsive,' she said in that low rough voice that made him completely insane. She started to move her hand and he almost chocked. 'Where is your witty response now,' she chortled and bowed down to capture his response, if there were any, in her mouth. He kissed her with a ferocity that almost ripped her of her sanity. She spread her thighs over his, guiding his cock into her entrance. He had closed his eyes, letting her taking the lead, entrusting himself into her hands. Those very hands pulled him up, clasping her shoulders. Her mouth searched his, their tongues entangled.

'I love you,' she breathed.

'I love you,' he panted in response while his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs and moved her body on the rhythm of their love-making. He felt her sheath tighten and moved one hand to rub her clit while his mouth wandered to a nipple to bite and lick the hared peak. She creamed his name when she came, not heading any attention to anyone who could hear her through those thin walls. And neither did he when he followed her in his mind-numbing orgasm. He fell back on the mattress, taking her with him.

'Oh Maker, Marian,' he managed.

She moaned something incomprehensible, ending with a few words that sounded like, 'Glad to be of that blasted ship.'

He chortled. 'I do agree.'

They got interrupter by an impatient Varric knocking on the door.

'I know how you look naked, don't make me come in. We are waiting for you. Hurry up!'

'Shall we answer him? Or just kill him?' Fenris mused while he kissed her throat and tangled his fingers in her wonderful hair that still held that faint rosemary scent.

'Let's just ignore him and make love again,' she murmured.

'The best option,' he agreed.

He turned their bodies and rested his arms besides hers. His eyes were dark with want, as were hers. He took her mouth and his tongue swirled around hers while his shaft came to life again and pushed against her core.

Varric rammed against the door, rattling the wood. 'I'm getting impatient, damn you, we are waiting!'

'Go away dwarf!' they cried in unison and at the same time Fenris entered her. He pushed into her in one hard motion. She shouted out with delight.

Varric gave up. After all he couldn't blame them. And then again, an hour more spent together wouldn't harm their quest.

They turned up times later, smiling broadly, looking happy. That was worth something.

* * *

**I hope the waiting was worthwhile. Next chapter will reveal a lot. **

**Please stay with me! **

**By the way, is there someone, anyone, who wants to be my beta ...? I would be very grateful. **

**By the way I love all of you who take the effort to read this, led alone to review it!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much for all your support!**

**Some important things will be set in motion and a secret will be revealed...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 19

Wynne hid a smile when Hawke and Fenris finally turned up at the breakfast table, both of them radiating happiness though the elf tried to conceal it by looking as stoic as possible – sadly without result. The Seeker scowled at them but said nothing, he just kept wearing his dark cloud of chagrin. Hawke ignored him for the moment. He and Wynne sat next to each other on a wooden bench and Varric had taken a seat opposite them. The table in between carried the remains of the breakfast served an hour before. The bartender hastened to bring a can of coffee and some fresh bread. The room was quiet since the few other guests had already finished their morning meal and had left to tend to whatever business they were in Denerim for.

'Well,' Varric smirked, 'look who have decided to join the world of the living at last. I take it you had a ... pleasant night?'

'And morning,' Hawke agreed beaming, 'no thanks for the interruption.' Fenris had the decency to at least make an attempt to look embarrassed. After a murmured "good morning" he sat down with lowered eyes and reached for a bread roll.

'Don't bother to fool us with that face, elf,' Varric said teasing, 'we can all look through that so called humble expression of yours and see the pride and joy behind it. And don't try to brood either, it seems you're losing your touch.' Content with that statement he took a long gulp from his morning ale.

'I wouldn't say that,' Hawke grinned happily, while helping herself to a mug of fresh coffee, 'I can guarantee you that his touch – 'Varric spluttered his ale over the table.

'Serah Hawke,' Berran raised his voice before Fenris could silence her, 'I take it you understand we're in quite a hurry so please finish your breakfast so we can be on our way.' Wynne stifled a laugh. She remembered the clumsy start of the love-affair between the two persons who were now the King and Queen of Ferelden and how she had criticised that affair in the beginning – and how she had been proven to be wrong. When her worries had died away and she had allowed herself to admit there was no question about their sincere feelings for each other, she had felt the love that was exchanged between them. And now she could feel it again with Malcolm's daughter and the strange tattooed Tevinter elf. She looked at them with warm affection.

'Maybe you should try the Pearl's splendours,' Hawke mumbled under her breath but loud enough for Berran to hear, 'it would definitely improve your mood.' He shot her a murderous glance but didn't reply.

'We found out that the runesmith who assumedly has worked with Malcolm Hawke goes by the name of Brok Igulson,' Wynne said, ignoring the pin-pricks, 'he runs a shop in a street not far from the central square in the Market District. It's not a ten minutes walk.'

'Does he know we're about to honour him with a visit?' Hawke asked somewhat sarcastically.

'I have always found that the element of surprise helps a great deal with gathering information,' the Seeker growled.

'Really? Who'd have thought you could be so cunningly subtle? Or is "surprise" in this case just a euphemism for bursting into a place with overwhelming power and intimidation and scare the shit out of everyone present?'

'That's enough Serah Hawke,' Wynne said firmly, 'instead of bickering we'd better focus on the task at hand. No, we don't have an appointment with the dwarf but I assume we don't have to. He runs a shop after all, he is used to customers. I suppose people walk in and out at every hour of the day. We just want to ask him some questions in a friendly way. I can only hope that the presence of the daughter of Malcolm Hawke and the authority of the First Enchanter of Ferelden will have a positive effect on his – memory.'

Hawke cocked her head and looked pensively at Wynne. 'Speaking of memory, I know it is a long time ago, but I have to wonder why you didn't remember the runesmith's name.'

Wynne smiled at her but the smile didn't entirely reach her eyes. 'It is indeed a long time ago but that is not the only reason. In those days the runesmith lived in the village of Lake Calenhad Docks on the shores of the lake, not far from the Tower. First Enchanter Irvin had given your father permission to visit him frequently so the dwarf didn't have to carry all of his equipment to the Tower every time he needed to use it. I told you before your father worked alone and didn't share much of his findings, mostly because it was too complicated for us to comprehend. No one ever asked him about the runesmith's name, he on his turn never mentioned it.' She let out a little sigh. 'Of course now I wish we had paid more attention.'

'Because you don't trust him and what he has done,' Hawke said flatly, ' even though you claim you give him the benefit of the doubt.'

'I still do, Serah Hawke. I only regret I know so little about what he was doing. If I _had_ paid more attention we presumably wouldn't need Brok Igulson at all.'

Berran at his turn squinted at her spitefully. 'Must I again tell you about his suspicious behaviour?'

Hawke bristled. 'The fact that you don't understand what he was trying to do doesn't make it suspicious,' she sneered, 'but I assume you would even accuse the Divine of consorting with demons if she looked at the you the wrong way.'

In the strained silence that followed Varric's cheerful baritone chimed like a bronze bell. 'Are you a betting lady, madam?' he asked Wynne, 'apart from a little stake at cards?'

'If I say yes, what would be the consequences?' she informed cautiously.

'I propose a wager about which of those two will strangle the other one first,' Varric gave her a toothy grin. Wynne's hearty laughter broke the tension. 'I'll put my money on Berran,' she said, 'since he is not used to be treated like this and thus is likely the first to snap.' Varric's grin broadened. 'I'll take your bet. Fifty silvers. Care to join in, elf?'

Fenris looked sidelong at Marian. 'I think I'll pass,' he said.

'Oh just go ahead,' Hawke said airily, 'I don't mind. But don't expect me to let him win,' she added with a devious smirk.

Berran stood so abruptly that he bumped into the table and actually shifted the furniture almost half a meter. Fenris acted just in time to prevent his and Marian's stomachs got squashed and, in the case of Varric, some ribs were broken. Another generous splash of ale sloshed over the wooden surface followed by some strong language uttered in the dwarven tongue. As far Hawke could remember Varric only swore in dwarven when alcohol got spilled.

'I'll wait outside until you are done joking,' the Seeker snarled. With a few long strides he reached the door which he slammed closed behind him.

Wynne took a deep breath.

'You know, Serah Hawke, you shouldn't take such a hostile stance against him. After all he is trying to help you.'

'_Help_ me?' Marian exclaimed angrily, 'he only wants to nail my father! He'd love to prove he was some kind of abomination or worse to feed his prejudice! The only reason he wants to ask for information, no, interrogate that dwarf or more likely to lay him on the Seekers' notorious rack is to see his twisted opinion justified! And in the meantime he wants to accuse me also of dabbling in some forbidding – you name it. Black art. Blood magic. Whatever. _Help_ me!' she scoffed. _Yes, make me laugh, you mage!_

'Eh, Hawke, haven't I warned you against the danger of tea and coffee in the morning? How many times must I tell you it's not good for you? Here, take a sip of my ale, it will clear your mind. Or you can lick it off the table, if you wish. There floats enough of the liquid to launch a ship. Remember your elf's behaviour when we just met him? He was at least as broody as our Seeker is now. I won't deny the man has issues but I don't think they are aimed at you. More at the world in general. Just like the elf back then.'

Fenris opened his mouth to utter a protest but thought the better of it.

'He gets on my nerves,' Hawke muttered.

'I rather think this whole matter is getting on your nerves,' Fenris said, 'given the way you keep mulling over it.'

She groaned. 'Alright, I plead guilty.' She got up determinedly. 'So let's go to that runesmith and get it over with.'

* * *

Not a moment after they had left the tavern, the bartender slipped away and ran to the royal palace. He went to the cavernous kitchen and addressed a woman who was busy with kneading dough to make bread for lunch. After the exchange of a few sentences he hurried back to the Gnawed Noble before anyone had noticed his absence. His little exercise had made him richer by three gold coins. The woman left her dough to go to the royal pigeon-loft. After she had assured she was the only person present, she wrote a short message on the paper she took from the stack that was always available in the small office adjusting the room where the birds stayed, picked a suitable pigeon, bound the rolled up little paper on its leg and sent it on its way.

Within a few hours a certain Magister would become very angry but that was not her concern. His wrath wouldn't reach her.

* * *

They stepped out of the Gnawed Noble into the drizzling rain. Berran stood waiting, his face a brewing thunderstorm. He said nothing, he just turned and started walking.

'I do hope this isn't the only kind of weather Ferelden has to offer,' Varric complained while skirting a puddle, 'because no one can tell me it is good for Bianca's health. She might catch a cold.'

Hawke had to laugh at that. 'Oh stop whining dwarf, the way you pamper her, she will get spoiled. She'll survive a little cold, don't worry. And she could still cough up bolts. Besides that, nothing like a good Fereldan drizzle to let your chest hair flourish.'

'And have even more women all over me?' Varric groused, 'You know I already have to beat them off with a stick. No need to make it worse.'

'Well, you could start with buttoning up your tunic. Really Varric, I swear that leaving it open to invite women to gawk at your chest is the same behaviour as Isabela showing her cleavage to everyone who wants to feast their eyes upon it.'

'And what's wrong with that?' Varric managed to sound defiant and innocent at the same time.

'Nothing. Just don't complain about it. I know you love the attention.'

'You are too smart for your own good,' Varric snorted.

'Hmm,' Fenris mused, 'you have a valid point.'

Hawke reacted with mock hurt. 'What? No defending me, my knight in shining lyrium? Oh, my poor heart; hear it break!'

In the middle of a theatrical gesture she tripped over a basket containing Orlesian scents sitting on the edge of the market. Thanks to his lighting fast reaction Fenris caught her before she hit the muddy ground. For some long moments she hung powerless in his arms. His eyes were twinkling, the silver a radiant sliver in the springtime green. She almost lost it.

'Knight in shining _lyrium_?' He shot her a crooked smile. 'Remember you are ticklish, Marian Hawke and at this moment completely at my mercy.'

'You wicked elf,' she murmured, 'and here I was thinking it sounded so much more romantic than "bodyguard".' Fenris chortled and put her back on her feet. 'It does,' he agreed and planted a quick but heated kiss on her lips.

'Serah Hawke, do I have to remind you again we have pressing matters to deal with?' Berran called over his shoulder.

'My, are we grumpy this morning,' Marian grumbled.

'One has to wonder why,' Varric said straight-faced.

'Shut up dwarf.'

When they reached the runesmith's shop Wynne stopped the Seeker by putting her hand lightly on his wrist. 'Perhaps it's better if I do the talking,' she said with a cordial smile that tolerated no peremptory, 'no use to intimidate him, I deem.' Without waiting for an answer she stepped through the door.

Inside it was stifling hot and it soon became clear that this was not only a rune smithy but also a forge. At the back of the room a furnace was blazing, a young dwarf was pumping the bellows. An elder dwarf with black braided hair and a bushy black beard was hammering on an anvil. A second look taught that he was busy with a hammer and chisel to tap an intricate pattern of delicate lines into a steel breastplate. He looked up at their entrance.

'What can I do for you?' he said jovially, 'If you are here for a new armour or some heavy weaponry, you've come to the right place.' He let his eyes linger on the elf, the dwarf and the human, obviously the appropriate candidates for the recommended goods. 'Or perhaps you want some rune crafting done ..?' he turned to Hawke and Wynne.

'Stay here,' Wynne ordered the three males while she took Hawke by the elbow and led her to the anvil.

'As a matter of fact, Ser dwarf, we are here to ask you a few questions.'

The dwarf's face closed faster than a door in the face of a door to door (always slammed shut) salesman.

'About what?' His voice had turned gruffly, with a considerable touch of suspicion.

Wynne produced her most captivating smile. 'Let me allow introducing us. I am Wynne, the First Enchanter of the Tower of Magi in Ferelden and this young lady here is Marian Hawke, the daughter of Malcolm Hawke. It is him we seek information about.' But if she had thought the dwarf would be cooperative because of dropping those names, she was wrong.

'Maybe I believe you are the First Enchanter but who says _you_,' Brok Igulson pointed his chisel at Marian, 'are really Malcolm Hawke's daughter, missy? Anyone could claim that.'

That, of course, was true. She couldn't prove anything. If there had been any official papers to start with, they were lost in the Blight. 'Er, the striking resemblance?' she attempted charmingly but the dwarf didn't buy it. He just looked at her with eyes as black and blazing as the coals in his furnace.

'I knew Malcolm Hawke personally from his time in the Circle,' Wynne tried anew with a honeyed voice, 'and I have it on good authority you are the runesmith he worked with in those days.'

'And what authority might that be?' The dwarf now sounded outright hostile. Wynne hesitated. Just as Marian she figured it was probably not a good idea to mention the Seekers' meddling. Hawke decided to take over.

'Ser dwarf, I just want information about my father,' she said meekly, 'you would do me a great favour; it's very important to me.'

'If it's that important, go and ask it himself.'

'I would if that were possible. But he died a few years ago.' That seemed to strike a nerve. Behind all his facial hair Brok Igulson suddenly looked shocked.

'Died? From what?'

'An accident,' Hawke said curtly. She was surprised to find it didn't hurt as much as it used to do. To pour out her heart to Fenris definitely had helped. Not to mention his understanding reaction.

The dwarf was silent for a couple of moments. He put down his hammer and chisel and scratched his bushy beard. 'Look missy, even if that were true and even if you are really Hawke's daughter, I could make you none the wiser.'

'But you knew him?' Hawke persevered.

Another pause. Then the dwarf apparently reached a decision. 'Ay, I knew him. And I worked for him back in the day. But that's all I have to say.'

'You don't even know what it is I want to ask!' Hawke became desperate. She had dreaded this encounter, dreaded the answers she might have to hear. But now the runesmith wasn't willing to give any explanations at all, she got frustrated. She had been prepared for the worst, not for an obstructive dwarf. It was quite a cold anti-climax.

'That isn't hard to guess, is it,' the obstructive dwarf said in the meantime, 'it's undoubtedly about Hawke's amazing knowledge of runes and how to create them. I'm not willing to share that with someone who claims to be his daughter, resemblance or not.'

At the door Berran cleared his throat. Wynne turned faster than a viper and shot him a venomous look. He backed away and collided with the wooden post. Fenris bit his lip to suppress a chuckle, Varric on the other hand sniggered, 'Women, they always know how to give you the evil eye when you're not prepared for it, don't they.' The Seeker grumbled something incomprehensible. Even without looking at him Fenris knew Berran had gone red. He could almost feel the heat the man emitted.

'I'm not asking you to reveal that kind of secrets, I wouldn't understand them anyway. But you must know of his code language ..?' Hawke pleaded.

'What code language?' Brok Igulson said just a heartbeat too fast. He must have seen that little mistake himself in the reflexion of Marian's sceptic look because he added immediately and again too fast, 'I don't know anything about a code language.' Which made it even more implausible.

'I'm sure you don't,' she replied sardonically, 'pull the other one, it's got bells on.'

The dwarf managed to retrieve his straight, slightly annoyed face. 'Listen missy, I'm an occupied businessman and if you're not here to buy my goods or place an order, I must ask you strongly to leave. Now.' He picked up his tools and for a moment it wasn't exactly clear if he did that to continue his work or to use them as weapons.

Hawke opened her mouth to object but Wynne cut her short. 'I think that's for the best,' she said. 'Thank you for your time, Serah.' She ushered a greatly unwilling Marian Hawke outside into the still moist air of Denerim. 'I didn't even have the chance to show him the map!' Hawke protested.

'As if that would have helped,' Wynne responded, 'he was more apt to rip it out of your hands and throw it into his furnace than to give away any details.'

'You should have let me handle him,' Berran groused on his turn when they stood outside on the wooden boardwalk.

'To what prevail?' Wynne reacted irritated, 'you would sooner have felt his tools embedded in your scull than heard a useful answer. Yes, I'm aware he knows a lot more than he wants to admit but he simply doesn't trust us. Frankly, I can't blame him.'

Hawke let out a deep sigh. 'And now?'

Wynne smiled. 'Let him digest out visit. Within a day or two we will go back. Just the two of us, Serah Hawke. By then he has had time to think it all over. I bet he will be much more informative.'

'Fifty silvers,' Varric said automatically.

Wynne laughed. 'I accept.'

* * *

The young dwarf looked up from the bellows. 'You do know that was the First Enchanter, master Igulson?' he said timidly. He didn't know whether to be in awe because of his employer's recalcitrant behaviour or in panic about any possible repercussions.

'I don't care if she was Andraste herself,' the runesmith rumbled tetchily, 'no one enters here and starts questioning about Malcolm Hawke. By the Stone, the impudence of those people! Did they really think I'm so untrustworthy I'd spill the beans because some missy pretends to be his daughter?! Ha! That will be the day.' He gave a firm bang on the chisel and almost ruined the breastplate. 'That will be the day indeed!'

* * *

Back in Minrathous Danarius tried extremely hard not to break anything by throwing it at the walls or smash it on the marble floor. He knew from experience he would regret the loss of his costly sculptures, vases and china the next day. It never matched the short feeling of satisfaction the sound of breaking porcelain and glass gave in his moments of fury.

'I thought you said the assassin was trustworthy!' he yelled at Hadriana. His apprentice made herself as small as possible. And she carefully didn't point out that the very assassin was handpicked by the Magister himself.

'I had no reason to believe he would betray you,' she almost whispered, 'he accepted the job without a retort. He totally fell for my story of wanting to capture an apostate on behalf of the Divine Justinia,' she added with a sudden revival of bravery. Zevran hadn't been her choice, hadn't he; she would have gone for a real Crow, not one who had shown his cheating nature by leaving the famous assassin's order to follow the Hero of Ferelden. But her bravery didn't go that far as to say that out loud.

'That is what assassins do besides the actual assassination,' Danarius fumed, 'they never ask for the reason! They just accept the job!' He started to pace his study. 'And here our man darts to Kirkwall and warns our two targets! He even goes as far as to eliminate the Archon's men.' For a brief moment that lightened up his dark mood. He hadn't been able to put his hands on his runaway slave and the daughter of Malcolm Hawke – yet – but neither had Vitellius. Rumours wandered through Minrathous and he was certain this time the rumours were true. He didn't know where they came from; one never knew and it didn't matter anyhow. The important thing was that he was well-informed on the fact that one of the rare elves the Crows ever had employed, the one with the blond hair and the weird facial tattoo, the one Hadriana had approached on his behalf, had been seen in the company of his Fenris and Marian Hawke, in a fairly sociable way that is. And also that he had killed the Archon's spies. That was an advantage. And he doubted Vitellius knew about the trip to Denerim. He calmed down somewhat and turned to his apprentice. He had made his decision.

'You go to Ferelden this very minute,' he ordered her, 'take as many men you think are necessary. I want those two captured whatever the costs. Go by sea or land, I don't care. As long as you deliver my little wolf and his bird of prey at my feet as soon as possible.'

Hadriana felt relieved. Instead of a punishment she received a new mission, that was a lot more than she had hoped for when she had entered this study. She went to the door. 'And Hadriana,' she halted, 'don't fail me.'

'I won't,' she said, a determined look in her sky-blue eyes.

* * *

After their – for now – fruitless visit to the runesmith Wynne and Berran decided to go back to the Gnawed Noble. Hawke, Fenris and Varric ambled in their trail, unsure what to do next. A stroll through Denerim wasn't a very inviting option in this weather and Hawke didn't want to spend the rest of the day in the tavern. On the other hand she wasn't keen about visiting the Pearl either, as Varric proposed. Undoubtedly they could drink a few pints of good ale over there but she didn't feel like meeting Isabela and Zevran in the state of mind she was in. She felt restless and more than a little disappointed. Although she had feared the outcome of the confrontation with Brok Igulson, being left with nothing at all was perhaps even worse. The pig-headed attitude from the runesmith had made her despondent and she wasn't so sure he would be more accommodating in a day or two as Wynne believed.

'I could speak with him as dwarf to dwarf,' Varric offered, 'maybe that would get some result.'

'I highly doubt that,' Hawke sighed, 'yes, you're both dwarfs and both topsiders but there ends every similarity. He's a serious smith you are a, er,' she sought for the right expression and a sudden brainwave struck her, 'a merchant prince with a living weapon as a mistress,' she sniggered, 'too colourful to his liking I'm afraid.'

'Well, you're in great form this morning,' Varric grinned, 'a merchant prince no less! I should put that on my business cart. I bet that would open the gates to Orzammar.'

'Fifty silvers?' Fenris suggested.

'And don't forget the crossbow-mistress part,' said Hawke, 'could be extremely useful, that one.' And then she let out a loud gasp. 'Look at that, the Wonders of Thedas!'

'So?' Fenris and Varric reacted simultaneously somewhat bewildered while looking at the façade of the shop Hawke pointed at.

'I remember my father took me there when we visited Denerim ages ago. It is amazing! He bought me a book of Fereldan legends and fairytales on that occasion. Come on, let's go inside!' She almost waltzed to the shop, reluctantly followed by the elf and the dwarf. 'I remember that book,' Fenris muttered, 'rubbish.'

'Reading lessons?' Varric informed empathically.

'Don't start about it. The lessons weren't too bad, mind you, the reading though ...'

The Wonders of Thedas had shelves attached to all the walls, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. At the back two staircases led to another level that held – undoubtedly – more wonders. There were books and maps and statues, little dolls and charms and a counter which was manned by a tranquil made mage. Behind him rows of poultices were stacked in several cabinets.

'Can I help you?' he asked with that toneless voice that all tranquil shared. And then, despite his condition, his eyes seem to grow wide in astonishment.

'Serah Hawke ..?' he asked somewhat hesitantly.

Marian started. 'You know me?' she said gobsmacked.

'Yes ... it was a long time ago but I remember you. You were small back then, just a little girl, but you're a spitting image of your father.' He gave her wavering smile. 'What brought you back?'

Hawke had no reminiscence of the tranquil mage but then again, there had been so many things to admire she probably hadn't even noticed him that day long ago. She took a step forward. 'As a matter of fact my father is the reason why I'm in Denerim. Did you know him well? I don't remember him talking about you.' _A tranquil. Of course he never mentioned him, all mages fear tranquil or rather what they symbolize: the power of the Templars, ever so often abused._

He looked at her in that typical distracted way. 'Indeed I did. After all I acted as his runesmith.'

'You were ...' Hawke reacted confused, 'but I thought that dwarf, Brok Igulson ...' her voice faltered.

'Ah yes. He too worked as his runesmith. For the common runes, if you can speak about common in relation to what your father did.' He smiled at her in an artificial manner. 'I enchanted the most important object.' He fell silent.

'Which was?' Hawke encouraged him when the silence became awkward. She wasn't entirely certain she was eager to hear this but she didn't want to turn down this unexpected chance to learn more about her father's exploits either. She suddenly got the feeling that something of vital significance was about to be revealed and swallowed nervously. She heard Fenris shift behind her and a moment later felt his hand rest ever so slightly against her elbow. She was grateful for his support.

'You know he made protective runes?' the tranquil asked after a pause. Hawke nodded. 'I've heard all about it.'

'Then you must know about his most important project.' Hawke didn't but wasn't willing to admit it out of fear he would back down. 'It was about shielding mages from their own magic,' he continued and Hawke felt her hackles starting to rise. 'After a lot of research and a considerable amount of effort, Malcolm Hawke had developed two different runes; one to block the flow of mana immediately, and another to slowly drain it and let it disappear forever.'

Hawke stiffened and Fenris tightened his grip. Part of her wanted to stop the tranquil proprietor from talking but a voice inside her head, the voice of reason she suspected, told her she should be glad she finally got some answers.

Before she could make a decision, the tranquil went on. 'There was only one big difficulty,' he said, 'to let the influence of the runes be successful, they needed to be worked into a special metal called amantium. And the problem was that this particular metal is in fact mythical. It has been described in various tomes, not only because of the amazing properties it holds but also because it never has been discovered.'

Marian exhaled with relief. Her fears had been unfounded after all.

'That is to say, as far as I know there exists just one little piece,' the proprietor droned on, 'a ring was made out of it and I enchanted it with the two runes. It is the very ring you're wearing on your left hand.'

Hawke's eyes flew open and she made a chocking sound.

* * *

**I hope you agree that this must be quite a blow for Hawke, to find out she was born as a "normal" mage after all. But of course there is more to it ...**

**Thank you for reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you all so much for your support, I loved to read the wonderful reviews!**

**And as for you, dear Guest whom I can't send a message to for reasons of your own I presume, thanks to you ever so more!**

**I hope you all will enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 20

Fenris's hand immediately moved away from Hawke's elbow and caught her arm instead before she could do something stupid like attacking the tranquil proprietor or running off into a city she didn't know to end up Maker knew where or said Maker knew in what kind of trouble. His other hand closed around her shoulder with the force of a vice. Her breath hitched and she staggered for a moment but to his amazement and to be honest also to his unease, she didn't even try to wriggle out of his firm grasp. He would had been more comfortable with a screaming and kicking Hawke, that part of her was predictable and not too difficult to handle. He wasn't certain what would happen if she really broke down and gave in to despair.

'I fucking knew it,' he heard her grunt hoarsely, 'I knew it, I fucking knew it. Bloody hell.'

'Marian ...' he mumbled tentatively, not certain if there wouldn't be an outburst after all. Better to stay alert. He felt her body go taut and then start to tremble. He fastened his hold even more and she leant limply against him.

A whole battalion of different emotions marched through her head. She was shocked despite her already existing suspicions (but some suspicions just begged to be denied) and scared out of her wit for the consequences; she could imagine the demons closing in and Berran locking her up with a contented and devilish sneer. If that wasn't enough, somewhere in between anger slowly began to boil and then a sudden crushing feeling of betrayal hit her like a stone fist. 'He should have told me. Why didn't he tell me?' she croaked with a throaty sob.

Fenris turned her, wrapped his arms around her and held her frame close to his. It wasn't hard to guess whom she referred to. 'Perhaps he meant to but never got the opportunity,' he said gently.

She wanted to pummel him but he held her too tight to even leave her the liberty to move a finger. 'Never got the opportunity?!' she seethed in a fast growing rage, 'opportunities all over the place! I lived in the same house with the man for years, for Andraste's sake! Every day there were plenty of opportunities to explain why he made me into the biggest lie of all mages!'

Ah, this was more like it. An angry Marian Hawke was easier to cope with than a dismayed one. 'I don't think you have been listening –'

'I've been listening damn well enough to understand that I was right all along!' she growled.

'No Marian. If you really had been listening you had heard that your mana is indeed nonexistent. Nothing has changed,' Fenris said patiently while he was holding her in a steel grip.

'Everything has changed!' she spat heatedly, wriggling without result, 'I wasn't born without mana; I've been made into something unnatural by two runes and a piece of creepy metal. I'm a disguise, a maleficar, not better than an abomination! I fucking knew it!'

Okay, anger was fine, unreasonable became disturbing; it reminded him of her belligerent rant in the Deep Roads after Carver was carried off by the Grey Wardens. But before he could react they got interrupted by Varric.

The dwarf had wandered off to the higher level of the shop to inspect the Wonders Thedas had to offer up there while Hawke and Fenris were having there unsettling conversation with the proprietor. At this moment Fenris saw him out of the corner of his eye descending the staircase, holding something in his hand.

'Look at this, Hawke,' he called out cheerfully, 'I found a golem doll with an unbelievable eerie resemblance to your uncle – what the hell is going on?!' He held his step and his eyes flashed from Hawke and the elf to the tranquil mage and back. He automatically reached for his crossbow but stopped halfway when he saw Fenris shaking his head.

Marian tried to break free, Fenris however embraced her as if he held her prisoner which pretty much was the case. 'Varric,' she hissed hotly through clenched teeth, 'you go back to that bloody runesmith and drag him in here, and you can make a pincushion out of him as far as I care if he refuses to come with you.'

'What is going on?' Varric asked warily, still holding his step and still not sure if Bianca wouldn't come in handy.

'A revelation of Andrastian proportions,' Fenris answered dryly, 'at least that's what Marian has gotten into her head. Do me a favour and fetch Wynne and Berran if you please.'

'No!' Hawke cried out, 'I don't want them to know! Maker knows what that Seeker will do! And let go off me, you blasted elf!'

'You can't keep them out of this. And calm down before I have to knock you out.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

'Watch me.'

'Eh, if I may interfere in a matrimonial fight, I think the elf is right about this one, Hawke,' Varric said. It was obvious something had occurred that had made Hawke utterly upset and you didn't have to be a genius to deduct what it was about. He knew damn well he risked an explosion of white-hot fury by backing Fenris but at this moment he relied on the elf's opinion – and his strength.

Hawke let out a scream of frustration, wrestled some more without result and finally gave in. 'Oh all right, go and get them over here. But if he takes me into custody and do all kinds of nasty things to me it will be on your head.'

'I'll take that risk,' Fenris said with the calm of someone who knew none of such would happen. She suddenly had to think about that night when they thought the Templars were after her and he had dragged her into that alley where they had been standing against the wall, their bodies pressed into each other. A giggle escaped her. 'You always know what to do, don't you,' she said.

Not surprisingly Fenris had been thinking about the same night. 'No, I don't,' he replied, 'I just try. Mostly I follow my instinct. Is it safe again to let you go free?' Hawke nodded. 'No shouting, wielding daggers or smashing the place to bits?'

She blew out some air. 'I promise.' And after that, 'Would you really have knocked me out?'

'Hmm. Perhaps I might have tried another scenario first,' he smiled crookedly, 'although I'm not sure you wouldn't have bitten me.'

She stared at him. 'Do you still trust me?' she asked with a small voice. He rested his forehead against hers. 'You have asked me this before. On a very memorable night as I recall. My answer back then was yes and I see no reason to change that now. How many times do I have to repeat myself?'

All this time the tranquil mage had eyed them impassively from behind his counter. 'I believe the things I said have caused a great deal of distress,' he now observed.

Fenris looked up. 'You can say that again. I don't suppose you have a bottle of Antivan brandy somewhere around?'

'I have,' Varric said; he produced a little flask out of an inside pocket and tossed it to the elf who deftly caught it. 'I'll be off then. See you in a couple of minutes.'

Fenris passed the flask on to Marian. 'Don't empty it in one go,' he warned her, 'you have experienced the result before.'

She laughed a bit shakily while she uncorked the little vessel. 'I can still feel the headache an overdose of this stuff cost me,' she grinned before taking a small sip. The liquid burned down her throat but almost immediately helped to relax her mental strain.

'I do apologize for my exaggerated reaction,' she turned to the proprietor, 'after all you only told the truth I was looking for.'

He stared back at her blank faced. 'You did not insult me,' he said emotionless. _No. Even if I would call you a dim-witted arse of a retarded monkey you probably wouldn't feel insulted. Remind me to ask Fenris's opinion about this kind of criminal actions that turn a man into an automaton. Or better not; I don't feel like putting up a fight with him. Not ever again. And please stop rambling in your own head. _

'I really have to work on my temper,' she mumbled, 'it's even getting on _my_ nerves.'

'You don't say. And that's only one part of you I have to cope with,' Fenris said mischievously.

She cocked an eyebrow. 'There are enough parts of me you cope with very well,' she commented with a lopsided smile.

Behind her back she heard the shop's door open. 'Serah Hawke?' Wynne's voice sounded worried. 'Varric told us something has happened but he didn't say what. Good morning Arden. I trust things are going well with the Wonders of Thedas?'

'As always, First Enchanter.'

'I see you've already met Marian Hawke and Fenris ..?' Wynne informed carefully. She couldn't help but notice the traces of distress still visible in the face of the other woman.

'The young lady had some kind of fit but it is over now,' the tranquil said in that uncanny flat tone.

'You know him?' Marian managed slightly light headed.

'Arden was once part of our Circle,' Wynne explained, 'but after he only just survived his harrowing he volunteered to be made tranquil. Better that than to be confronted with the demons he had to fight off all the time. At least that was his argument.'

Marian stared at the mage and wished Wynne hadn't given her this information. She decided to ignore it for the moment. 'Where are Varric and Berran?' she asked instead. She took another quaff of the brandy before re-corking the flask and putting it in one of her pockets. No use to get drunk at this moment,

'Collecting Brok Igulson. On your command if I have understood that well. Varric mentioned with glee he had permission to turn him into a pincushion, your permission no less.'

Hawke grimaced. 'Ouch. I hope he didn't take that one too literally; it's so hard to interrogate a dead person. But the little bugger has been hiding vital information from us.'

'I thought we already established that _and_ that we agreed to pay him another visit within a day or two.' Wynne tried not to sound irritably.

'I'm aware of that. But I think his tongue will loosen with – Arden was it? present as a witness. And what is the use of asking the same questions twice?' She felt like she was floating at this moment. Something was very wrong. Something was about to be revealed and she knew for certain she didn't want to hear it. Not after all the things she had been forced to listen to she hadn't want to know in the first place. She had to admit she drew comfort from Fenris's presence so close by, his hands hovering to grab or catch her if she would lose her grip. At this moment he was her lifeline to the actual world. She was certain if any demon would dare to materialize and harass her, Fenris would sooner kill it than she in the state she was momentarily in.

Wynne frowned confused. 'What are you talking about?'

Hawke composed herself. _Get a grasp on yourself, you twat. No use to whine over milk already spilled. You know what to expect when that dwarf finally finds his tongue_. _Don't try to hide._ She gestured towards the tranquil mage named Arden. 'Apparently you are acquainted with the gentleman over there but not well enough to know he performed one hell of a trick.' Wynne's face resembled even more a question mark but before Hawke could explain, the door opened once again and a fuming and cursing Brok Igulson got dragged in by Varric and Berran.

'You have no right to do this!' the runesmith shouted, 'you have no warrant, I want to see a warrant! I'm an honest businessman!'

'Just shut up or I make you,' Berran threatened.

'Seekers don't need a warrant,' Hawke said coolly and in the way the dwarf's face changed from indignant fury to rigid terror in merely a heartbeat she realized the Seeker hadn't revealed his identity. She almost pitied the smith. Almost. 'I see you have managed to keep Bianca silent and at peace,' she smiled at Varric.'

'It took a lot of persuasion; the way he went on with his diatribe, she got rather twitchy,' her dwarven friend grumbled.

'I'm pleased to see you showed her who's in charge,' Hawke grinned. She straightened her shoulders, throwing off all of her anxieties for the moment. 'Now we're all together as one big happy family I suggest we close the shop and find a quiet place to have a nice chat about some very interesting topics,' she said merrily.

* * *

They had withdrawn to a chamber behind the shop that served as Arden's living and bedroom. It was a small space that contained not much more than a bed, a wardrobe, a table and a few simple wooden chairs. They had to make use of crates to have everybody seated.

'And the thought never crossed your mind to tell this to your First Enchanter,' Berran said irately after Arden had explained for the second time what he had done on Malcolm Hawke's bidding. The mage looked perfectly blank and not comprehending as could be expected.

'Berran,' Wynne said softly, 'he's a tranquil; he doesn't come up with initiatives.'

'Yes, how wonderful this Templar solution works out,' Hawke commented sarcastically, 'remind me to shoot me first before someone comes up with the idea to do that to me.'

Fenris shivered inwardly at the thought of Marian being like this Arden; he looked at him from the corner of his eye and suppressed a wince. He saw nothing but a man deprived of all normal feelings and reactions, deprived of all that made him human, elven, dwarven, _living_. _Existing_._ A real person._ Just the imagination of her being like that ... without her angry outbursts, without her vivid expressions and gestures, without her wit and irony and without her passion ... she would be nothing more than an empty shell. A walking, talking and reasoning device with no feelings, no need for heated discussions and no desire to make love, not even being able to love at all. He had always considered the turning of dangerous or failing mages tranquil a perfect alternative for killing them as far as he had given it a thought whatsoever. But now he was confronted with such an alternative he felt appalled and even sickened. In the midst of his contemplations he wondered if this had been Malcolm Hawke's motive to dedicate himself so passionately to the creation of protective runes. If so, he would applaud that initiative even long after the man's death.

'I still don't see what I have to do with all this,' Brok Igulson piped up with a voice too small to match the anger he tried to personify.

'Don't tell me you didn't know about it,' Marian said sternly, sharply turning to the black bearded dwarf, 'you were my father's regular runesmith, I bet he first came to you with the request of enchanting this ring. And I don't want to hear anyone call "fifty silvers",' she added ominously.

'I wouldn't dare,' Varric mumbled.

Brok Igulson fidgeted on his crate, visibly struggling with his conscience. Nervously he pulled at his bushy beard.

'I would come clear if I were you,' Varric advised, watching his trepidation with mild concern, 'I for one would sooner undergo the questioning methods of the Seekers than face Hawke's wrath. And you have a choice here.'

The other dwarf seemed to come to the same conclusion after eyeing Marian's foreboding look. 'I, er, I couldn't do it,' he confessed, 'I consider myself a good runesmith, a very good one if I may say so, but what Malcolm Hawke asked me to do went beyond my capabilities. With a lot of effort I did managed to craft the ring out of the small piece of metal he brought with him but I failed to enchant it. It pained me to disappoint Malcolm but amantium turned out to be very difficult to work with. It's hard to explain but it seems to have a spirit of its own. It felt as if it fought against being shaped into a ring in the first place and it refused completely all the methods known to me to accept the runes. I suppose it requires a special mind to bend it to one's will, a tranquil mind apparently. I however didn't know Hawke went to our tranquil friend over here and that he succeeded in getting the job done,' he ended somewhat sourly.

'A good thing then that I stumbled upon him by pure chance,' Hawke said grimly, 'and now you have started to talk, by all means keep going on. I, for example, am very curious about what you can tell us about my father's code language.' She didn't want to pay much attention to the technical part of the story; she knew up forehand she would understand little to nothing about it and thought it wouldn't help very much to unravel the mystery.

'Just a moment,' the Seeker butted in, 'I want to know why Malcolm Hawke insisted on that ring being made for his daughter.' _I don't want to know at all,_ Hawke thought, _but I won't be able to stop the answer I'm afraid. Oh well, brace yourself, here it comes._

Brok Igulson sighed and casted a cautious glance in Marian's direction. 'Because he was certain she was a very powerful mage, even more powerful then he was. The most powerful mage ever born in fact. "A mage that can shape, change or destroy the world." That were his words on that faithful night as I recall.' He shot her a wavering smile. 'I remember you as you were back then, a little missy with two blonde, almost white braided pigtails, looking at the world with bright blue inquisitive eyes, playing with the straw dolly I gave you to distract you from the conversation I had with your father, singing and dancing around the smithy. I think you were not older than six or seven years, maybe even younger. And yet you managed to rekindle my furnace without giving a glimpse at the bellows. It seemed you didn't even see them. Malcolm said you just knew the coals needed a boost.' He bowed his head. 'His voice sounded somewhere between pride and utmost fear at that moment.' Brok's own voice at _this_ moment sounded somewhere between pleading and the sour-sweet reminiscent of that memorable occurrence. 'At first it was hard to believe him, but after you managed to revive the fire absentmindedly, as it seemed, I couldn't deny his suspicions. And fears. You were not more than a bairn back then! A little one of your age wasn't supposed to manage that. At that age they usually only set the whole place on fire, not just the furnace.'

Fenris remembered the arcade horror on his landing and the thugs in the slum and didn't refute any of Igulsons's words.

Marian couldn't remember any of what had happened in the smithy and wanted very hard not to pay any attention to the bring-the-dead-fire-back-to-life part so she stuck to the most important piece of information. 'And he didn't trust me being able to control that power,' she remarked resentfully. She tried to swallow a big lump in her throat.

'That was not the main reason,' Brok Igulson hastened to say, 'he was far more afraid someone would find out, someone with bad intentions, someone who'd want to take advantage of you.' "A mage that can shape, change or destroy the world." he murmured barely audible. But Marian caught his words quite clearly. And his frightened look.

She leaned back, folded her arms and looked at the Seeker with a glare wrought out of ice, lava and spite. 'You were convinced my father was involved in some sort of secret weapon,' she sneered derisively, 'and lo! you were right after all. The secret weapon is sitting right in front of you. In the flesh. Shouldn't you rejoice! A candle lighted in thanks to your precious Andraste would be in place, I deem. By now you undoubtedly want to drag me to your Divine as your price and win her everlasting gratitude.' She decided she could find a suitable wall to punch later on, now it was important to keep her head cool. Sarcasm helped. The same moment she felt Fenris's hand gripping her wrist. Without turning her head she said, 'Don't worry, I'm not going to disembowel him or anyone else – yet.' With a cocked eyebrow she observed the expression on Berran's face. Rather confused and presently not capable to respond. Good. _Press on_ 'Please, Ser dwarf, explain about the code language. I believe that was my question before our honoured Seeker interfered.'

The black bearded dwarf looked nervously from her to the Seeker and back but decided the former little happy girl was at this moment the most dangerous of the two. 'Yes, I know about the code language although I can't read it. I do know however when your father started to use it.' He casted a sidelong glance at Wynne. Another woman not to be neglected or played with. Little beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. 'It was after he found the piece of amantium in the old archive of the Circle at Lake Calenhad.'

'What?' Wynne exclaimed completely taken aback, 'you mean that ... in _our_ Tower?!'

'It was one of the reasons why he came to Ferelden,' Brok Igulson continued, wiping the sweat of his brow with the back of his hand, 'besides the fact he hated the whole of the Tevinter Imperium and what it represents. He had found a book in the Minrathous' Circle library that hinted at the existence of an amantium mine somewhere in the Frostback Mountains and asserted a nugget of the metal would be in the possession of the Fereldan Circle of Magi. It was an obscure tome, mind you, and Hawke wasn't certain about its authenticity but it gave him the final boost to run away from Tevinter.'

Hawke conjured the puzzling map somewhere out of her armour and gave it to the runesmith.

'Does this look familiar to you?' Fenris still had his hand on her wrist, lightly. He didn't think she would go on a murdering rampage by now but one could never be certain.

The dwarf looked astounded from the map to her. 'Where did you get this?'

'We found it in the Deep Roads under the Free Marches. I've been wondering how it ended up there ever since.'

'I think I have an idea,' Brok Igulson murmured. He stared at the drawing. 'Although I'm not sure what brought it that far from the Frostback Mountains.' He looked up at the assembled faces, all full of expectation safe from Arden. 'But perhaps it's better to follow the order of events instead of jumping back and forward randomly.' Most of the faces agreed. 'Not long after Malcolm Hawke arrived at the Tower I received an invitation to meet him.'

'I remember that,' Wynne said, 'Malcolm had asked First Enchanter Irving if he knew a good runesmith and he recommended you.'

Brok Igulson nodded. 'And we went along together very well from the first moment on.' He smiled almost excusing. 'After all we both shared a passion for runes. He showed me the map, this very map, he had copied from the old tome. He asked me if I knew anything about the site of the mysterious mine. Back then I had never heard about such a mine and was certain no one even in Orzammar had. But with some difficulty I managed to contact the only dwarves who possibly could know something about it: the Legion of the Dead. After all they remain permanently in the Deep Roads and are familiar with almost every trench and cave down there.'

'The Legion of the Dead! I can't imagine they were willing to assist,' Varric remarked, 'they do not deal with the living, considering themselves as deceased already.'

'At first they weren't,' the runesmith confirmed, 'until after combing every inch of the archive in the cellar, Hawke actually found the piece of amantium in a forgotten corner. A forgotten corner in a forgotten archive in a forgotten cellar,' he chuckled timorously and started sweating again. 'It was just lying there, collecting dust in the midst of half crumbled scrolls. Then again, to the inexperienced eye the metal looks just like silver. After some tests however Hawke was able to identify the metal as being actual amantium. That piqued even the interest of the Legion. Captain Kardol himself came up to Lake Calenhad Docks to see the nugget with his own eyes. Malcolm Hawke gave him the map but as far as I know, the mine has never been never found, if it exists anyway.' Again he had to sweep away sweat and wordlessly he accepted the handkerchief Wynne handed to him.

'So the Legion of the Dead knew about the metal,' Marian said pensively. By now she was convinced that if her father had thought the mine was real, it really excited.

'Of course they did. Every dwarf does,' 'Brok Igulson said in a rough voice. He handed Wynne back the now rather soaked handkerchief.

'I didn't,' Varric said.

Brok Igulson looked him up and down. 'I'm not sure you can be called a real dwarf, what without a beard and with all that exposed chest hair. No offence meant.'

'None taken,' Varric said happily, 'maybe I even consider it a compliment.'

The runesmith coughed. 'Before I go on, can I have something to drink? My throat is getting dry.'

'I could make some tea,' Arden offered. They all turned to him in astonishment. A tranquil offering something on his own account was not heard of.

'Are you alright, Arden?' Wynne informed guardedly. 'I am, First Enchanter,' he replied, 'the remark of the dwarf just reminded me I am thirsty. Is something wrong with that?' Wynne shook her head. 'No, Arden, nothing is wrong with that.' _everything is wrong with that,_ Fenris thought.

Brok, despite Wynne's friendly words, shuddered. 'I meant something stronger than flavoured boiled water if you don't mind.'

'My kind of dwarf,' Varric beamed.

'I shall be off to the kitchen then –' Arden started but before he could end his sentence a husky female voice cut through his words.

'Oh sweetness, are you in here?' a low alt suddenly chimed in a sing song tone from somewhere out of the shop. The Seeker covered his eyes with his hand and groaned loudly. 'O holy Andraste, not that woman. Not now.' Not moments later Isabela swayed into the small room, closely followed by Zevran. She managed to fill the space immediately with not only her personality but also – Marian had no name for the gadget at the very moment, being not only mesmerised but also almost injured by – it. 'Ah, here you are. Here you all are! Edwina was right all along when she told us you retired in here!'

'I'll strangle her,' Berran grumbled, referring to the Gnawed Noble proprietor. 'How the hell did you get in?' he cried out in desperation, 'the door was locked!'

'So?' Isabela said genuinely astonished, 'never stopped Zevran before. Or me, except once,' she added with uncharacteristically honesty. Fenris still got the shivers thinking about her relentless efforts to spy upon him and Marian whilst being entangled in an act made cheap by her interference. That is to say she made it feel cheap because of the methods she used to sneak up on them – well, making love had nothing to do with the way she tried to snoop. _Love_ had nothing to do with it. Avoiding her prying eyes had exhausted him more than the actual deed.

Marian stared at her open-mouthed. 'What in Andraste's name do you have on your head?!'

Isabela twirled. 'Didn't I once tell you I found an amazing hat shop in Kirkwall?' she chattered, 'then let me tell you now that shop pales into less than a shadow compared to the store I came across in this town. You won't believe the wonderful hats they sell in there!'

'I wouldn't if I didn't see the painful evidence before my very eyes,' Fenris mumbled.

'Well, what do you think?!' Isabela tittered, 'isn't it wonderful?!'

'I, er, I, yes, I'm speechless,' Marian stuttered in truth.

Varric studied the construction with great interest. 'I see you have robbed an orchard, several of them. And you have uprooted a dozen or so flowerbeds. Ah, and I notice a galleon got shipwrecked in the middle of all the greenery. Nice touch that one. By the way, are those real birds that got themselves trapped mistaking your contraption for lustrous woodland or are they part of the landscape?'

Isabela put her hands defiantly on her hips. 'Ugh, you horrible dwarf, you don't have any sense for fashion whatsoever!'

'That may be, I do however have good taste. But look at it this way, you can always rent yourself as a shelter against a cloudburst or a sunstroke. At least half of the population of Fereldan are able to find refuse under that rim. Must be good money in that business. But as long as you're here, you don't happen to have any decent ale upon you, have you?'

Zevran looked around the room with the bright smile that seemed to be his trademark. 'Yes, I can see the problem,' he said not taking notice of the tension that had crept into the walls and even the ceiling although Marian was certain he was very much aware of it, 'my lovely Queen of the Seas, I suggest we go and remedy the lack of decent drinks.'

'But my hat –' Isabela started.

'-will survive another criss-cross to the Gnawed Noble and back no doubt,' Zevran filled in smoothly. He winked at Marian while he ushered Isabela out of the room. She felt Fenris's grip tightening.

'Perhaps this is a silly question,' the elf said after the baroque hat and its Antivan lover had retrieved in search for some ale, 'but no matter how hard I look I can't see any runes worked into the ring Marian is wearing.'

All the heads present turned again to Arden.

'They're on the inside,' he declared toneless, 'Malcolm Hawke didn't want them to be seen. He didn't want them to attract any attention.'

At those words all the heads turned to Hawke. 'No!' she exclaimed, 'I'm not taking it off! Maker knows what it will do to me!' And now she finally broke. She jumped up and ran off – at least that's what she intended to do. Two strong elven hands prevented her escape. Crying she collided with a muscular body; lanky it might be but strong even more and there was no denying or evading that fact. She simply ended up in his arms before she even had the chance to flee.

'I can kiss you or knock you flat out at the very moment,' her whispered softly in her ear, 'it's your decision. Running away will do you no good, my love, you in the least.'

With much effort she composed herself and swallowed back the angry and desperate tears. She turned to the gathering, only held up on her trembling feet by her beloved and understanding elf. She closed her eyes and opened them again with a flair of brilliant shining sapphire that knocked them all out. Even Berran. And even Arden; that is to say he looked intensely at her in an almost not tranquil way. She had made her decision. 'Alright, before I'm going to kill somebody, is there anyone we can turn to for help or further information to find that blasted mine?' She managed to surprise Fenris, let alone the rest of the group. Not a moment ago she seemed weak and defeated, now her eyes shined with renewed vigour.

'There is a dwarven miss I've heard of who became a Warden,' Brok Igulson volunteered timidly, 'she's called Sigrun. She once was a member of the Dead Legion, the only one who survived the massacre at Kal'Hirol. She lives in Vigil's Keep close to the city of Amaranthine. She served under the Warden Commander, otherwise known as the Hero or the Queen of Ferelden. She's the only known member of the Legion to be actually alive and above ground.'

'Fine,' Marian said grimly, 'let's go pay a visit to this dwarf.'

* * *

**Yes, Sigrun. I always thought she was the most lovable character in the Awakening. I really wanted her to be part of this story. I hope you all agree.**

**By the way, I suppose the title of this story has become clear ...?**

**As always, thank you for reading!**


	21. Chapter 21

**I have really been seriously struggling with this chapter; writing, deleting, rewriting ... it drove me crazy. Anyway ... I'm still not content with how it came out, but I hope you will enjoy reading it anyway...**

* * *

Chapter 21

Hadriana was feeling extremely annoyed, not to mention she was beside herself with fury although she managed to hide her anger behind a veil of self-control. Up till now the trip she and her entourage of fifty armed men, four mages and two slaves had started in Minrathous had gone smoothly; they had travelled through Nevarra without any troubles to speak of and had been able to make good progress since they had decided to make use of horses. She wasn't particularly fond of horseback riding or horses in general, but she had to admit the time they'd been able to make was much better than when they would have journeyed by sea, considering the detour they would have been forced to take. But now they had arrived at Cumberland, their good fortune seemed to have come to a halt. She had left her small army outside the walls of the city together with three mages and had put up at a tavern with her two slaves, for the occasion her so called servants, and her personal assistant Titia. The latter was a young talented female mage who would become her official apprentice when Hadriana had risen to the rank of magister. Hadriana had sent her to the harbour to find a ship destined for Denerim, but the girl had returned without any result. So she had gone to arrange things herself, convinced that there was nothing a good arrogant attitude or if need be the clink of gold coins couldn't accomplish. It turned out she was wrong. At this very moment she was quarrelling with the harbourmaster in the man's office about passage on a ship bound for the capital of Ferelden.

'For the last time, Serah, the next ship destined for Denerim will leave in five days and not an hour sooner,' the harbourmaster said, getting tired of the woman's persistence, 'but I highly doubt if they are willing to take you and your fifty armed men on board. No captain I know of is comfortable being surrounded by an army that is not under his command.'

Hadriana very much wanted to scorch him, freeze him or imbed him in stone up until he cooperated, but that was out of the question. It was not recommended to use magic openly outside the Imperium so she left it at glowering fiercely. When she came to the realisation that didn't help she tried pleading. She pulled out all the stops, from a desperate look in her eyes to an irresistible charming smile; a successful magister (i.e. one who managed to survive all the Minrathous' intrigues and conspiracies) had, besides all other things, to be an excellent actor and Hadriana knew every trick in the book.

'Please. Serah, I have to go to Denerim as fast as possible. A relative of mine who lives near the Brecillian Forest has sent a request for aid against a plague of evil beasts that are pestering her and her family. As you know the army of Ferelden is reduced to not much more than a small guard so she can't make an appeal to the King and Queen because they are not able to help her. Hence the armed men I bring with me. I have to go there as fast as possible; this is a matter of live and death!' She was rather proud of this impromptu made up story because everybody knew there lurked strange and frightening creatures in the Brecillian Forest. Throughout Thedas the stories were used to make children compliant. It was one thing Fereldan was famous for, besides the dogs.

'If you're in such a hurry you could take a ship to Amaranthine,' the harbourmaster suggested grumpily, 'and from there travel over land to the Brecillian Forest. The _Sea Eagle_ will set sail tomorrow morning. The captain is known to take passengers but you should be prepared to pay a lot of money, especially with that army of yours.'

'Money is not an issue,' Hadriana grumbled. She would gladly have purchased a ship and hired a crew if that were possible but that would cost more time than she could afford to lose. She had no other option than to negotiate with the captain of the _Sea Eagle_ (which she thought an ill chosen name for an ungainly carrier), to take them to Amaranthine. At first the burly, tanned man wasn't willing at all, but after an hour of discussing and bargaining and the exchange of a considerable amount of money, the captain agreed under the condition that the soldiers would stay in the hold and their weapons in the captain's cabin. Hadriana wasn't all too happy with that arrangement but understood she had no other choice. She felt more than relieved when they left Cumberland the next day to cross the Waking Sea on their way to Amaranthine. She was leaning against the rail, looking at the city that slowly turned into a vague line at the horizon. Titia was standing next to her, Hadriana casted her a sidelong glance.

'Things are going differently than we expected or hoped for, but do not doubt we will catch them to drag them back to Minrathous. And I'm certain Danarius won't object to us having a little fun with them along the way,' she added. A little cruel smile played around her thin lips.

'I'm looking forward to it,' the girl responded, mimicking the smile.

* * *

In the meantime in Val Royeaux, as a matter of fact not that far from Cumberland, the Head of the Seekers Baron Villefranche was sitting at his desk in his plain but efficiently furnished room. He looked the woman standing to attention before him up and down. He had read her file and found it remarkable; she looked like some innocent country girl with her soft heart shaped face, her cherry like mouth with pouty lips and shining blue eyes. And yet ...

'I'll come right to the point,' he said, 'I know you joined our ranks only recently, but I'm inclined to let you be a part of an important and very secret mission. You lived in Lothering for a few years, didn't you?'

'Yes Messere,' the woman answered. If she was surprised by the question, she masked it well.

Villefranche ruffled through the papers lying in front of him. 'I understand you stayed in the village under the cover of a lay sister. Quite interesting since you have been trained as a bard and I can hardly believe there was any reason to act as a spy in a backwater town in a backwater country. Unless of course you were using it as a hiding spot.'

Without blinking an eye the red-haired woman said, 'I'm not so naive to assume the Seekers didn't know every detail about my past before they accepted me. I'm certain you read all about it.'

A shadow of a smile briefly fluttered across Villefranche's face. 'Indeed. The betrayal of your former mentor and lover Marjolaine, the false accusation of treason, the imprisonment and the torture you had to endure. And also your miraculous escape and let's not forget the thorough way you eliminated your mentor and her bodyguards in her safe house in Denerim. A very intriguing story, Serah Leliana.'

'I had assistance,' Leliana said, looking perfectly blank.

'Yes, from the Hero of Ferelden no less. But I didn't summon you here to talk about your past, at least not _that_ past. In your years as a lay sister in the Chantry of Lothering you must have met a young lady by the name of Marian Hawke.'

'I could deny it, but it would be of no use, would it, because you already know,' Leliana replied smartly.

He suppressed another smile. 'Did you ever notice anything peculiar about her?'

Leliana shrugged nonchalantly. 'Nothing more than that she was an intelligent girl and a very skilled rogue. Not much of a singing voice though and she lacked subtlety, no bard material.'

Villefranche leant back in his chair and waited a few moments for the effect to kick in at full force before he said, 'So you didn't know she is in fact a mage.'

Leliana raised her brow. 'If that is true, she did conceal that well. She never showed any signs.' She smiled briefly. 'Perhaps I underestimated her knowledge of subtlety. Or maybe subterfuge would be the appropriate word in this case.'

The Head of the Seekers put his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. He wondered what remark would made her snap. 'I don't think so. You see, the reason you didn't notice is because she has no mana – apparently.'

Leliana wrinkled her forehead delicatly . 'But that's impossible!'

'Well, according to the testimony of a very reliable witness, it's the truth.' He hesitated for a moment before he continued. 'You know the Marquis Albert Berran, the Head of the Special Assignment Section?'

'I've heard of him.'

'A few months ago he went on a secret operation without telling what is was all about. It is not unusual for him or his agents to act that way but the procedure is they sent a report the moment they discover something of importance. We haven't received any personal report whatsoever. We know by now he had gone to Kirkwall to find this Marian Hawke and meanwhile has rushed off to Denerim with the same mysterious mage without even a word of explanation – that is, not from him. We obtained that piece of information from our own man in Kirkwall. It's quite suspicious to say the least about it. He is, by the way, also in the company of someone you know well: Wynne, Ferelden's First Enchanter. We think by now she is the one who set all this in motion.'

'Wynne!' Leliana this time exclaimed, taken in surprise, 'but if she's involved, I can hardly imagine something fishy is going on. She's a trustworthy woman, I hold her in high esteem.'

Villefranche observed her intensely but couldn't find anything but honest expression. Then again, she was a bard. 'I don't question your judgment although I've learned through experience no one can be trusted. It's possible she has good intentions, just like that she might be using Berran for some dark scheme; It can be she acts in good faith but is deceived herself by a third person. But whatever the case, Berran should have returned to our Headquarters, preferable in the company of this Marian Hawke, or at least reported and waited for an answer before he made such a rash move. I don't trust it. I don't trust it at all. I'm afraid something has come up, something disturbing and dangerous, something he doesn't want us to know about.'

'You suspect treachery,' Leliana offered carefully. realising her unbard-like outburst.

'As a matter of fact I do although I can't fathom what it is all about. This behaviour is not like Berran, so yes, I think much more is going on than a mage without mana.' _As if that isn't troublesome enough,_ he added in his mind. He let his eyes rest on the red haired woman still standing. She looked pensively. Perhaps he should have offered her a seat and something to drink but then again, she was but a Junior Seeker, not much more than a recruit be it a very promising one. And trustworthy. He was convinced her past would guarantee that she'd everything being said in this room would keep a secret. She had learned a hard lesson. 'The reason I want you to be part of this mission, Serah Leliana, is that you know both Marian Hawke and the First Enchanter closely. On the strict orders of the Divine herself, the Marquis isn't to be harmed and on my orders that counts also for Marian Hawke and Wynne. They must be safely escorted to Val Royeaux. Of course the order is already given to the captain of the company but I have a special assignment for you – a mission in a mission if you like. I want you to gain the trust of the two women. Do you understand me?'

'You want me to make them to confide in me and tell me their part of the story before you have to take other measurements,' Leliana said flatly.

'Exactly. It would not only save us time but, more importantly, the use of – certain methods. I would like to avoid an incident with Ferelden. The Ferelden's don't harbour warm sentiments towards Orlais to start with and if they were to learn we took their First Enchanter captive and worse, it could lead to dire consequences. So I assume you appreciate this is a very delicate and important task you're given. If you succeed I assure you I will recommend you to the Divine Justinia personally.' Leliana just nodded. 'Needless to say no one else knows about this and no one is ever to find out. Made I myself clear?' Another short nod. 'Then you are dismissed Seeker.'

He stared at the closed door for a long time, hoping it would all work out in the way he wanted it to.

* * *

'I trust you don't need me any longer? I have a shop to run and a breastplate to finish you know,' Brok Igulson said, defiantly looking around the table.

Hawke waved him off. 'You can go. But keep yourself available in case more questions pop up. By the way, thank you for your help.' Isabela and Zevran had returned not long before, carrying two large pitchers with ale and a handful of mugs and the runesmith had gulped down the contents of a tankard in one go. Hawke wondered if only thirst had made him do that. He still looked flustered. And thirsty. But seeing Varric drown his ale at the same speed, she was willing to believe it was a dwarf thing.

'It's not like I'm going anywhere,' Brok Igulson muttered while he scurried out of the room, 'you know where to find me.'

'Sooo, Amaranthine,' Isabela drawled after the door was shut, 'I wonder what kind of wondrous shops they have been hiding over there.' She had left her outrageous hat back in the Gnawed Noble to everyone's relief. At least the chance of getting decapitated by a lustrous scenery whirled around by an enthusiastic pirate queen was reduced to a minimum.

'Vigil's Keep. Not Amaranthine,' Hawke replied, absentmindedly staring at the map still lying on the table. Even though she knew by now what the marked spot indicated, she still felt uneasy when she looked at it. A mine, a mythical mine, probably it didn't exist, most likely it did. After all her father had been positive it was there so there had to be some truth mixed with the myth. And that's where the problem started. She was convinced there was more to it. Something happened there, good or ill she couldn't tell but she was certain her father had been involved. How far had he been willing to go to obtain the priceless amantium? What had he done? What had he offered, or sacrificed? Automatically her fingers started fiddling with the ring on her left hand but the moment she got aware of it she jerked back her right hand as if the metal had bitten or burnt her.

'What's the difference,' Isabela's voice chimed and for a moment she was confused.

'Hmm? What? Oh.' Reality kicked in. 'About twenty miles I guess.' She looked up and took a swill from her ale. She forced a smile. 'But I suppose you will gladly cover that distance in your hunt for even more eccentric hats.'

'You bet!' Isabela beamed.

Berran, in the meantime, tapped the wooden surface of the table nervously with his fingers. He looked troublesome. 'Serah Hawke, I don't think it's wise to go searching for that mine,' he said. His eyes had also been fixed upon the map.

Hawk frowned. 'Why? Getting cold feet? I thought you would be mighty interested in a mine full of metal to cage mages more sufficiently than the so called tranquil solution.'

'Marian, don't,' Fenris murmured just nearly audible. 'I think the man has good reasons.' The words were spoken automatically. He didn't want her to put up a scene – again. At this very moment he paid scarce attention to the current conversation. The words _a mage who can shape, change or destroy the world_ kept resonating in his head. Her father must have been terrified when he found out, no wonder he had taken his drastic measurements. And how much did Danarius know about this? They still hadn't talked about his interest in her, she had been adroitly avoiding the subject but it bothered him greatly. His former master undoubtedly had found out by now the Antivan Crow had turned against him but he knew for sure he wouldn't let it rest. And he was as good as certain about who he would send this time ... He shuddered inwardly just by the remembrance of her name.

As to emphasize the elf's words, though he never heard them, or as this this time was able to understand them , Berran rubbed his face and sighed. 'Look, Serah Hawke,' he started wearily, 'I ...' He cut his own words short and hesitated. 'We need to talk.' He looked quite forlorn by now. Fenris dragged his attention back to what was happening presently. He would force Marian to listen to his fears later. He could just hope she would heed his warnings but now was not the time. _later, I'll talk to her later and she'd better pay attention ... for her own good ... and mine_

'We are talking now, just keep going on.' Despite her annoyance Marian discovered for one reason or the other she wasn't as provoked by Berran as she used to be. There was something in his eyes and voice that suddenly touched her. She couldn't defy it immediately. Fear? Regret? Sorrow? Better to back down and let the man explain.

Berran stared at her with a look that said, "You can't be serious," hinting with his eyes at Isabela and Zevran. They both caught his glance at the very moment, as the rogues they were, but where Zevran wisely decided not to react, Isabela on the other hand felt hugely affronted and didn't hesitate to spout her irritation.

'Do elaborate,' she said tartly, her chin in the air, 'I for one can't wait to hear your carefully throughout invented insinuations.'

'I don't think I have to,' the Seeker grumbled.

'Oh really? To be honest, hotshot, I don't give a rat's arse for _your_ well-being, but I would never betray Hawke.' Her usually merrily sparkling velvet eyes were overcast with anger and even her cleavage radiated indignation. It was quite an unnerving sight to behold. 'So because of _her_ you can make your confession without being afraid that you'll wake up as a corpse in the morning.' Her eyes locked with Berran's and a terrible row hovered in the air.

As ever so often before Varric saved the day. 'Rivaini, unless you are trying a hitherto never heard of audacious technique of seduction, I would backpedal if I were you. You can't blame a man for not trusting a woman who likes to carry a rainforest upon her head. One never knows what kind of venomous evil will suddenly jump out of the greenery with the intension of a deadly attack.' And as ever so often before, Isabela relaxed and laughed at the dwarf's words. 'You're right, Varric, it's not worth it.'

Berran rolled his eyes but heroically held back a nasty remark. Instead he returned to Marian. 'You see, I'm taking a big risk here,' he told her.

Mostly out of habit and certainly without thinking she sneered sarcastically, 'You. A Seeker. Taking a risk, a big one no less. Don't make me laugh.' She regretted the words at the same time she uttered them. She had pledged to herself – and Fenris not to incite at every remark that annoyed her. It wasn't that easy, apparently.

Out of his own habit Berran glared daggers at her. But then his look softened. After all, he had lost everything he once deemed important. He should hate her, but simply couldn't. It was his own fault after all. He looked at her and saw honesty, confusion and concern. 'I'm doing all of this on my own account,' he blurted, diving into the deep, 'I should have reported back to my superior ages ago but I didn't.' His face twitched. 'As a matter of fact I didn't even tell him where I was headed when I left Val Royeaux, although I don't doubt for a second that by now he is well-informed. By short, Serah Hawke, I've lost my personal bet and with that lost all.' And after a few moments he added murmuring, 'Everithying and everone.'

Hawke was surprised. 'So I take it you also have your suspicions about Gascard DuPuis, as much as I have,' she said hesitantly, not excatly knowing how to interpreted this confession.

'Yes. And I wager my life upon it the little squirt not only darted to Minrathous as fast as he could but after that he also hastened to the Seeker's Headquarters as well to share every bit of information.' Berran looked tired and said cautiously, 'I'm afraid we've turned this whole situation into a smoke and mirrors game, Serah Hawke. Perhaps it's better to come clear.' He produced a very bleak smile. 'I'm an ambitious man, Serah Hawke, and Wynne's story sounded promising enough to follow the threads that led to you. I was hoping to return to Orlais with one hell of a discovery.'

'And be welcomed in as a hero,' Isabela smirked, 'I wonder what you thought would be your reward.' Wynne urged her to silence but the pirate smelt the opportunity for revenge, especially when she saw Berran's flushed face. Her smile broadened. 'A woman's favour, I presume ..?' She of course had a special antenna for this kind of things. The Seeker glanced at her and his discomfort was almost palatable. For the first time Hawke regarded him as a real human instead of a walking menace or nuisance.

'Isabela, shut up,' she said irritably. 'Please, Berran, do continue.'

He took a deep breath. 'It may sound strange after all what we have been throwing at each other but I trust you. I believe you really knew even less about the entire situation than Wynne and I.' He clenched his fist. 'At this very moment I'm trying to keep you and myself out off the Divine's reach; I don't want you to fall into the hands of the interrogators at the Headquarters, not any more. To be honest that was the main reason to come to Denerim although I fear they will find out soon enough we're here instead of in Kirkwall if they don't know already.'

'O fuck,' Hawke muttered while dragging her hand through her hair. She finally looked up between detangled bangs. 'So we've ended up in the same boat? You are as vulnerable and exposed as being hunted as I am?' He just nodded without making a sound. 'Well, that's just perfect. IfI understand you well the Divine has sent by no doubt every Seeker that draws breath chasing after us. Add that to the Tevinter bastards Danarius has on the road, we can cook up one hell of a fox hunt.' She shook her head and with a sudden flare of empathy she said, 'I feel truly sorry for you. You lost your job and your status and presumably can never return to Orlais.'

Berran tried not to cringe. 'I only have myself to blame,' he said gloomily, 'and my ambition.'

'Pardon me for asking,' Zevran piped up, 'but if staying in one place is deemed dangerous, why are you opposed to look for that mine? It seems to me the mountains are a perfect place to disappear. Nothing like some decent peaks, passes and caves to cover one's tracks.'

'Speaking from experience I assume?' Varric remarked, masking a grin. The broad grin Zevran returned as response taught the dwarf the former assassin wasn't ashamed about his history at all. For some reasons Varric admired him for it.

Berran took a deep breath. 'That has nothing to do with the situation. I just can't shake off the feeling the place is some kind of trap.'

'So I'm not the only one having the nasty hunch something is terribly wrong with that place?' Marian said surprised.

'Definitely not.' The Seeker's eyes seemed to be more black an ominous than ever.

Now the attention of everyone present got drawn to the map.

The first one to comment was – well, whoever – Isabella. 'I don't want to be a spoilsport, sweetness but I only see an obscure and rather smudged little dot; no skull with crossed bones, no black flag, no warning sign saying "Here be Dragons". What's so creepy about it?'

Hawke rested her elbow on the table and her cheek in her hand. 'I don't know,' she sighed, staring at the little mark that had been placed there by, and she had no doubt about that, her father. 'it's hard to explain, just a feeling of danger, or something strange or whatever. Hé, that I have a bad feeling about it, doesn't say I know what it is!'

After a short silence Isabela hesitantly asked, 'So what do we do now?'

Hawke cocked an eyebrow and stared around the table, seeing everyone's looks focused on her. It intrigued and angered her at the same time. 'Why is everybody looking at me?'

'In case you didn't notice before, oh wonderful leader, we always leave the decisions to you. Less pressure on our shoulders, I suppose,' Varric smiled sweetly.

'O, that was the reason all that time; I thought you all relied upon my unfathomable wisdom,' Hawke grumbled darkly.

'That too, of course,' the dwarf said smoothly.

Hawke shook her head, hiding a smile. 'Oh well, we don't have to rush off and meet destiny immediately, what kind of destiny it will be. Darkspawn, dragons, slavers or Seekers. Instead we could go to Amaranthine and talk to that Grey Warden dwarf, who knows what we will learn. I definitely don't want to stay here acting as sitting ducks waiting to be captured or attacked. I suggest we'll give the Seekers and Tevinters as hard a time as possible to catch us.'

Zevran sniggered softly. 'I believe we already did but I won't protest against extending the amusing game somewhat longer.'

'That's my guy,' Isabela beamed.

Wynne looked pensively. 'I never wanted to involve the Queen in this, you know that Serah Hawke, but with this turn of events I think it's wise to call upon her.

Hawke cocked her head. 'Because ..?'

'She has been the Warden Commander at Vigil's Keep. And she has been the one who recruited Sigrun. She knows her. It could be useful to hear her out.'

'But I thought you didn't want her to know anything about our exiting adventure.' Hawke wasn't sure if she was willing to drag the Hero into this. For several reasons.

Wynne gave her a wan smile. 'Things have changed, I believe.'

Zevran put in a light and at the same time irresistible way a hand on Wynne's wrist. 'My delightful companion, I don't think you have to have second thoughts about the commitment our former commander will show when you explain the problem.'

Wynne's expression softened. 'No, my dear elf, I'm quite certain I wouldn't. I just didn't want to burden her,'

Zevran leaned back. 'That, my lovely Wynne, is the least of your concerns right now. And a Elissa Cousland who doesn't want to be burdened isn't heard off.'

Wynne laughed out loud and tapped Zevran's hand. 'I suppose you're right. I will go to the palace this very minute to ask for her counsel.'

'And that would be a good thing ..?' Hawke asked hesitantly.

'Don't doubt about that, Serah Hawke. It seems you are going to meet the Queen of Fereldan after all,' Wynne smiled. 'I will be off to the palace by now.' She stood up and left the small room, followed by the Seeker who at that moment looked like a chick following the mother duck.

'Weeeel, Zevran, The Pearl, The Gnawed Noble or any other place ... it's you choice now,' Isabella tittered while she ushered her elf out off the Wonders of Thedas.

'I think that leaves us,' Varric said. He casted a sidelong glance at the tranquil mage but decided at the very moment he wouldn't' live to see the day he'd have fun with that guy. On the other hand, the two other persons left behind didn't wear the expression of being the most pleasurable company at the moment either; especially the elf looked utterly strained. Varric decided to head for the Pearl himself and discover all the wonders of Denerim that establishment had to offer.

Fenris ushered Marian through the abandoned shop and said in a low voice, 'We have to talk.'

'Oh really, you too?' she reacted lightly but then caught his glowering look emphasised by the firm grasp on her arm.

'This is about Danarius, isn't it,' she sighed, knowing she had this coming.

'Yes.'

'All right. Let's retire into our room in the tavern and get this over with.' She was certain he would start a rant because he was considered about her and wanted to protect her. She was ready to oppose every word _he'd_ be ready to utter to turn her into some kind of feeble victim ready to be hauled to Tevinter or Orlais by all those bad men and/or women who were after her. And also after him, as she would make very clear the moment she had been able to make him listen to her. She wasn't the only target. Oh yes, she was one but so was he and, as she had understood well, so was Barren. If he was going to send her back to Kirkwall he should be ready to put upone hell of a fight. She was _not_ that feeble victim, dammed it. Danarius could drop dead.

* * *

And this was just one of the sentences the rant consisted of after they had reached their room. And screamed out at each other of the top of their voices.

'Will you shut up, woman and just hear me out!'

And that was only the start of their problems.

* * *

**All right, done for better or worse. I hope you will forgive me. It took too long to come up with this, but I promise next chapter will give you more action.**

**Nevertheless, thank you all for reading and stay by me!**

**By the way, just as I used Marian Hawke as the name the wonderful creators of the game came up with, I decided to leave "Elissa Cousland" untouched. After all, we all have our own made up names, use them if you like to.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Almost this whole chapter was written with Gotye's **_**Smoke and Mirror's Game**_** blasting into my ears. What an invigorating song! Just the rhythm ... wow! By the way, the whole album as fantastic (this for the few who haven't discovered that yet).**

**I can only hope it brought up something worthwhile. Well, let's put it this way, if you like this chapter, I completely dedicate it to our wonderful Australian/Belgium musical friend.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 22

His head ached like it had been attacked with a pickaxe. He hardly dared to open his eyes and when he did a lance of pure fire hit him between his brows. He couldn't help letting out a cry of agony. And immediately after that other parts of his body started to demand attention, his ribcage being the first in line. While he was struggling for breath after his involuntary cry, he realised at least half of his ribs must have been broken or badly bruised, he didn't know what was worse. Just drawing breath was sheer torture. And when he tried to move he realised his right shoulder had been dislocated; the joint had been rudely pushed back into the socket but it still hurt like hell, the fact that his hands were tied behind his back didn't add much to lighten the tormenting throbbing. Another draw of breath toggled a new sharp arrow of pain, this time not only his ribs but his whole abdomen screamed out in anguish. Someone – only one? – must have hit him fiercely, probably more than once. He became aware of other areas that now started to hurt. His lower back for instance felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. Somebody had made a serious effort to break his left ankle – he didn't know yet if they had succeeded – and he realised he couldn't open his right eye properly. He tasted the metal-like tang of blood in his mouth. With great effort he managed to sit up, trying to ignore all kinds of pain attacking his body. What the fuck had happened?

After the white-hot ache in his head had subsided somewhat and he could see more or less clearly with one eye working properly he got able to observe his location. Although there was little light, he could see he was apparently thrown in some kind of cage; the ceiling, floor and three of the walls consisted of rough wood and from his position he could see the iron bars that separated him from the rest of the – what? Building? Then he realised his prison was gently moving, like it was rolling on soft waves. He must be on a ship but he gathered the vessel was still anchored in the harbour, at open sea the undulation wouldn't have been this calm. How in the Maker's name had he gotten here? And perhaps more important: why?

Slowly he got aware of other details. He was stripped of his armour and left only in his smallclothes; he could feel the wood splinters biting in his naked skin. Not only his wrists but also his ankles were tied up, not with iron shackles but with rope. And not just ordinary rope. Ordinary rope would not have been a problem. Even steel should have been easy to get rid of. But the moment he tried to faze through his bonds, he felt the magic they held. Whoever had taken him captive knew about his markings and what they made him capable of. Panic struck but almost at the same time he restrained himself. This didn't mean he was taken by Tevinter slavers; that his markings were made of lyrium was quite obvious and not only Tevinters knew how to cope with that.

Tevinters. Danarius. Hadriana. At a snail's pace he shuffled backwards until he felt the wood of a wall pressing in his tormented back and carefully leant his head against it as far as his bonds afforded him while recognition slowly entered his mind. He wished it didn't. He groaned, his now fast returning memory hurt more than his injuries. He might as well have slapped her in her face or stabbed her with a knife. She had needed him after all the things that had been said and naturally had upset her but instead of giving her his support all he had done was adding more weight to the load already thrown upon her shoulders. He had acted like a total moron, only driven by his own emotions, ignoring hers. He deserved this physical pain though he still didn't know who had inflicted it and why.

Of course it had all started with a big row.

* * *

After Marian and he had retreated into their room in the Gnawed Noble, he had begun to pace, desperately trying to come up with the right words to make her understand. Not only to make her see how grave the situation was, but also to let her comprehend the decision he had made to protect her as good as possible. It didn't help his head was in a turmoil and all the words seemed to tumble over each other. Without saying anything she had sat down on the bed and watched him wearily, waiting for him to start talking.

Finally he had turned to face her.

'I wanted us to come here, to Denerim I mean. Not only because of the obvious reason; just as you I wanted to learn about your past, wanted to know how you became the mage you are, the role your father played.' He had been gesturing energetically; she had flinched at his words, he noticed almost clinically and at best absently, as if she was afraid there was more to that role than already had been revealed. He should have stopped his stupid monologue and asked her about that, but he hadn't, fool he had been. He had been too full of his own fears, his past and how that could affect her to stop himself.

'But there is more to it,' he had continued.

'I know this is about Danarius,' she had said calmly but with a nervous tinge in her voice. She hadn't looked at him, only at her fingers that had been weaving and un-weaving constantly nervously as at a will of their own. Another sign he had stupidly neglected. _He realised now she hadn't been nervous about his former master but about his behaviour. About what he was going to blurt out. She knew him well_. She had spoken so softly she had been nearly audible. Within mere minutes after that her shy demeanour had turned from a scared girl into a seething virago and it was all his doing.

'You have been avoiding talking about it, why I don't know,' he carried on. She had opened her mouth to react and he had raised his voice to prevent it. 'But that is not the issue right now. I'm more concerned about the one he has sent this time,' he had said; it had taken him quite an effort to pronounce the name. 'His pet pupil Hadriana.' With difficulty he had swallowed back the bile that had come up. 'I'm certain of it. After the failure of his slavers and the deception of our Antivan assassin he has no other options left.' The name of the witch alone had brought up cautiously shut away memories of being starved and whipped at a whim of a cruel mind. And perhaps even worst of all, the times she had used him, or rather his body for her own desires. Until the first time he had made love to Marian he hadn't even known what the expression meant; sex he was familiar with, a brutal and harsh connection of two bodies, only meant to lead to a cold and lonely orgasm – her orgasm most of the times. In more than one horrible way she had forced him to learn to please her. Love was a conception he had not known about until he had blundered into it, to his own amazement and – to be honest – fright. Perhaps that was the reason he had finally given in to his slumbering fear that he had been living in some kind of dream, a dream of real love that couldn't be true. At some point Marian had won his heart and trust but at any time she could throw it away. They were dancing on a thin line and he got the feeling she wasn't even aware of it. _Perhaps_ he must be the one to crush that dream before it would bring them both down. It was an illusion, just as the months living in freedom with the Fog Warriors had been a warm and wonderful illusion that had been cruelly and utterly shattered.

At the same time he was desperately clinging onto this hitherto unknown and delightful feeling and he would do anything to preserve and defend it – and her. Hence his decision. It was such a conflicting emotion that he was not able to comprehend it. Let alone that _she_ could grasp it, since he never had been able to explain. His words had been drowned in anger, anger about his inability to express himself properly; he hadn't even tried to sound reasonable. He groaned again. He should have listened to her, he should have _looked_ at her, at the desperate glance in her eyes, the deep love that lied there, love for him. Of course he had seen it, but sullenly had taken no notice of it. At that moment he wasn't able – or willing – to recognise her feelings for him, not with the remembrance of Hadriana so close by. Now it was too late, he had lost her. Due to his own stupidity. His stubbornness. The moment the possibility – no, the _knowledge_ – Danarius's pet pupil was hunting her had entered his mind, he hadn't been able to think clearly any longer. He had let his fear and panic get the better of him. Had allowed the dark memories to wash over him and take away all the good ones he had about Marian and their time together. With all the awful consequences. He cried out once more. Out of frustration this time.

* * *

'You what?!' she screamed.

He turned to her sharply. 'I'm sure you heard me well. I think we ought to split up. I will go after Hadriana ...

'You're leaving me –'

'No! I'm not leaving you! I'm protecting you –'

'By leaving me – '

'Will you shut up, woman and just hear me out!'

She closed her eyes and smothered a string of curses at the same time as some serious sobs. She buried her face in her hands to prevent her from more screaming or attacking him. She bit her thumb till it bled to silence herself. But it didn't help. She wanted to stop herself but couldn't. The words flew out of her mouth as at a will of their own.

'I knew this day would come,' she uttered hoarsely, 'or better, I feared for it. Oh bloody hell, I should have known better. This has little to nothing to do with you wanting to protect me, don't give me that bullshit. This is all about your past. Of course sooner or later it would haul you back in that black pit that lingers behind the walls in your head. I _knew_ there would come a moment that you would flee from me although I hoped not. Too much strings attached you can't get rid of, you don't even _try_ to get rid of. You, you _coward_.' That last word was said with such a heartbreaking emphasis it literally hurt him. He wasn't willing to accept it although deep inside him he knew it was true.

_Maker, Dalish Gods. The Stone. Whatever religion was paying attention. Probably none and it didn't matter anyway. How her words stung._ _And how he wanted to deny them, wanted only to be the hero, to safe her. Well, he greatly succeeded in that, didn't he, tied up and battered as he was now._

'Who the fuck is this Hadriana anyway that she is so important that she drives you away from me?' she went on, weeping at that time_. _

_Damned, he should have heeded that remark, her tears and the whole package of body-language that came with it. But no, he had just ranted on._

'She's Danarius apprentice, the one that tormented me even more than he did. She was the one who decided whether I could have a proper meal or not, the one who gave me punishment every time she thought she felt like it, the one who demanded –' at that moment he at least held back his words; to be honest because he didn't want to hear them spoken out loud but of course she understood instantly.

'So that's the reason why you've never talked about her before,' Marian bit hotly, 'and that makes her more important than me? Your remembrance of her fucking you or the other way around overshadows all we had together? Drowns the worth of our relationship?' At that very moment the little verb "had" didn't even hit home.

_And, of course, how he should had interfered there to drag her into his arms and pledge his everlasting love to her, whether she had believed it or not; he should at least have tried. He probably should have proposed to her that very moment though it was more likely she would have broken his nose than say yes. On the other hand, after the broken nose and a load of regrets and apologises on his behalf and hopefully hers she would have kissed him and declared herself his for eternity. But, idiot as he had been, he had never done that. _

'Don't you think it's time to put your past behind you and finally recognise you have a future?'

He again cringed at that straightforward remark.

'That's easy for you to say,' he had spat back and at the same time realised what a stupid answer it was, considering the ordeals she had been through. But that was a one-time occasion, he had thought doggedly, no matter how awful it had been, she hadn't have to undergo the years of sufferings he had gone through. What did she know about having been denied meals and well earned sleep and being forced to acts he didn't even want to think about.

'I want her dead,' he had yelled, 'and even better, I want to be the one who kills her. But that's not the matter at this moment, bloody hell. She's after you, right now godsdamned. And I'm going to prevent that. Whether you like it or not, whether you _believe_ it or not. I know her ways, how she thinks, how she will react, where she will be to strike at the right time. _I will find her and kill her before she will do you harm._' He roared these last words but he didn't impress her. And of course his marking had lit up but she even hadn't bothered to comment on it.

She had clenched her fists and her face had turned into a nasty mask of anger, 'Then go,' she had hissed, 'leave me and run into her claws. I don't doubt one second she's ready for you. Fuck her again if you think that will save me, or fight her. Or writhe as she pleases; you at any way will probably never got rid of her. So flee to her. I don't need you anyhow. I have proper friends. Friends who stay with me, whatever the cause.'

He wanted Marian so hard to understand his fears. He was so certain Hadriana wanted to wipe him out by harming the one she thought was his weakness. Yes, his weakness: his love for this woman. She wanted to kill her, or even worse to let her suffer before killing her and force him to watch. And to prevent that he had to find the witch, provoke her. To kill her if that was possible and if not ... be killed himself if that would safe her... After all he couldn't imagine his life going on without her. If only he had been able to tell her that... Instead he got caught up in her fury and misunderstanding and his own powerless anger. She waited for a reply that didn't come.

'All right, if you insist, go look for her, fuck her, kill her. I don't care! Ha, handle me as the feeble little girl you apparently see me. I don't care if it makes you feel better! If you really loved me you would stay at my side without a thought of her and her threads! Go away and go rush to meet your never-ending past. Just go away, fuck you!'

And he did. He ran out of their room, ran out of the tavern. He was hardly aware of the eyes following him.

And oh yes, her words hurt. Because they were true. He never should have run off; his intentions were true, he really wanted to save her from Hadriana. But they should have faced her together. And now he was here onboard some ship, held captive by persons who perhaps weren't slavers but knew his value and he was farther of protecting her than ever before.

And then a new insight hit him. Hadriana would never kill Marian. Danarius wanted her alive and his apprentice wouldn't dare to go against his order, even if it meant she had to deny herself her own pleasure.

Yes, a stupid, dim-witted fool he had been.

* * *

Varric and Berran sat in the tap-room of the Gnawed Noble, brotherly sharing a pitcher of well-earned ale. Wynne had gone to the palace to speak with the Queen but hoped to return before supper. Suddenly they heard the raised voices of Hawke and Fenris, shouting at each other at the top of their lungs. Shortly after that they saw the Tevinter elf darting out of the establishment with a face like a thunderstorm and his markings flashing like the matching lightning. At the same time the noise of something breakable getting seriously crashed against the wood of the bedroom door rang out. The two males shared a worried look.

'Is this common behaviour for those two?' Berran informed.

With concern in his eyes Varric stared at the heavy wooden door the elf had slammed shut behind his back. 'They have their petty quarrels, like any other couple, but as far as I know there usually is no storming off and breaking of objects involved. At least not since that one time.'(Both Hawke and Fenris would have been shocked to learn Varric knew about that incident but they shouldn't have; after all there was little the dwarf didn't know.) 'This looks serious; maybe I should go investigate ...' he offered hesitantly, not radiating much enthusiasm.

'Perhaps you should,' the Seeker said carefully, 'you know her best.'

The dwarf found her sitting on the double bed, leaning against the backboard. Her face was wet with tears but she wasn't crying right now; she was wearing an expression somewhere between desperation and immense rage.

'Err, Hawke? Care to tell what's going on?'

'He left me. He bloody left me! He said he loved me and I believed him but what man would leave his lover at her hour of need?! He just ran off!'

Varric frowned. While he approached the bed, he cautiously avoided to tread on the shards from what might have been a vase moments ago but that now lay scattered on the floor. He sat down next to her. 'You make it sound as if you chased him away by bluntly telling him you're unexpectedly expecting,' he said, 'by the way, that isn't the case, is it?'

She sat straight with the speed of a viper and pointed a furious finger at him. Her eyes spat fire. 'Don't you dare to make light of this!' she screeched.

Automatically Varric backed away a few inches. 'Madam, I wouldn't dare. But would you please be so good as to clarify what exactly happened?'

Hawke slumped back again and shut her eyes. She took a deep breath and in fits and starts she told Varric what had transpired. The dwarf frowned. 'Then we must make haste to find him and drag him back in here.'

'I don't want him back,' she hissed harshly.

'Yes Hawke, you do. You know as well as I he has gone off on a suicide mission and frankly at this moment I don't care a rat's ass for the reason why. You may be angry right now but you don't want him dead. As far as I understand he's out of his mind because of that bitch Hadriana and you because of, well, more or less because of everything that has happened and has been said today. None of you are capable of thinking logically. So you stay here in the loving care of our suddenly turned cuddly Seeker while I go and organize a search party. There's a good girl.'

'Don't patronize me!'

'If I don't, who would? Come, calm down and get yourself a pint. Leave it all to me. Just promise me you won't destroy any more of the inn's property, it could ruin our reputation of decent Kirkwall citizens.' He managed to conjure a bleak smile on her face and she trailed after him to the tap-room. She let herself down on the bench opposite Berran and shot him a look that said, 'Not a word. Not. One. Word.' The Seeker was wise enough to heed that warning and silently filled a mug with ale and pushed it in her direction. Varric had already taken his leave.

* * *

Fenris shifted a little and gritted his teeth against several bolts of pain surging through his body. He desperately tried to remember what had brought him in this dire situation. He could recall he had started his search for Hadriana by going to the harbour to look for information about ships that had recently docked, specifically ships from Tevinter. He had questioned the dockworkers and deckhands that hung around on the quays but after a fruitless hour of investigation he was to his disappointment none the wiser. Finally he had turned to the harbourmaster, an elderly man who was friendly enough to hear him out although he was terribly busy.

'No Tevinter ship has been so bold trying to dock in Denerim after what the slavers have done to the elves in the Alienage during the Blight,' he told him, 'you know about that, Serah?'

'An acquaintance mentioned it,' Fenris said, 'I understand they caused a lot of grief and damage.'

'You could say that again.' The harbourmaster looked him up and down. 'You seem like a strong and capable warrior. Are you perchance a slaver-hunter?'

Fenris cocked one of his brows. Slave hunters he knew, more than he cared for as a matter of fact, but _slaver_ hunters ..? 'What do you mean?'

The harbourmaster chuckled. 'I heard a group of hot-headed youngsters from the Alienage organized themselves even before the Blight was over to go after every Tevinter they could put their hands upon. Revenge, you see. I thought you might be their captain.'

'Do I look like the average Alienage-type to you?' Fenris wanted to snarl but at the last moment he succeeded in changing his tone into something that almost sounded amiable. The man didn't deserve his bad temper.

'I must admit you don't and I would like to talk about it a spell longer, but alas, I lack the time. So, to return to the subject of the Tevinter ships; I'm positive there hasn't been one here for over a year but it is always possible the bastards use other ships and come here in disguise. They don't have _Tevinter slavers_ tattooed on their forehead, have they. Perhaps you could ask around in the inns in the harbour district. There are always people who're willing to change information for coin or even a drink. And if everything else fails, you can travel to Amaranthine, it could well be they still let Tevinter ships dock over there.'

He had thanked the man and decided to follow his advice to visit some taverns. He hadn't been wandering through the narrow alleys winding between the tumbledown shacks for more than a few minutes when he realised he was being followed. He disappeared around a corner, hiding in the shadows and drew his dagger; wielding his broadsword in this place would have been madness. Five heartbeats later a hooded figure appeared in his field of vision, moving cautiously but not cautiously enough. Fenris pounced upon him, turned the figure's arms behind its back, held its wrists with one hand and put the dagger to its throat. A male voice squeaked with pain and surprise and Fenris got hit by a wave of stale sweat and garlic.

'You have a choice,' he hissed, 'I can slit your throat, tear your heart out off your chest or you tell me this instant why you are stalking me.'

'Please, Serah, don't kill me,' the voice wheezed terrified, 'I mean you no harm!'

'Then talk,' Fenris snarled.

'I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with the harbourmaster –'

'I said _talk_,' and he solidified his hold which caused a new squeak.

'I will, I will. I think I have some good information for you.' The man swallowed when the sharp point of the dagger pushed harder into his skin, almost drawing blood. 'But can't we discuss that over a pint of ale? That's much more comfortable,' he pleaded.

Fenris contemplated this for a moment. 'Alright. But don't try anything stupid.'

No. The only one being stupid had been he himself, he mused wryly. He remembered entering a shabby tavern, sitting down in a corner and taking a sip of liquid that tasted even worse than the stuff that passed for ale in the Hanged Man. After that everything became a blur. He was quite certain he hadn't passed out because of the bad quality of his drink; someone must have put something in it. But why? The words of the harbourmaster about Tevinters in disguise came up in his mind and his heart grew cold. But if his captors were really Tevinters, why would they leave him in this state? To teach him a lesson probably. And why hadn't Hadriana shown herself to gloat upon his misery and idiocy? Was she even here? Was it possible Danarius's slavers and apprentice were already in Denerim? No, it wasn't. They couldn't have known ... They couldn't have travelled that fast ... Or was there some kind of magic ..?

He realised his thoughts became incoherent. He shifted again and tried not to cry out in anguish; every movement, every intake of breath was a tormenting struggle. His head was pounding, his ankle was throbbing, his shoulder and ribcage seemed to be on fire. In fact his _whole body_ seemed to be on fire. But worse than his physical suffering was the painful memory of Marian's face when he told her he would go after Hadriana without her. The accusation of treachery in her beautiful sapphire eyes, the mixture of fury, anxiety and intense heartache. And he had done that to her. The moment the name Hadriana had popped up he hadn't been able to think and act as a normal rational being anymore. He had started to rave like a harebrained idiot and his thoughts had been spinning like he was delirious. Why did that witch still held such a fast hold on him? No, he did that to himself, Marian was right. It was easier to avoid or even submit to his past than to fight against it. He _was_ a coward. He had only himself to blame and not Danarius or even Hadriana the dream had turned into a nightmare. A light sob escaped him and he cringed.

Just before he lost his consciousness again he thought for a moment he could smell her scent of rosemary but he knew it was a delusion. He would die here or be hauled to Tevinter and he would never see her again.

* * *

Varric hurried as fast as his short legs could carry him to the Pearl. After he had entered the brothel, somewhat out of breath, he noticed to his relief that Isabela and Zevran were seated on a comfortable sofa instead of being occupied with other more complicated activities. They were drinking something golden coloured that looked expensive out of sparkling crystal glasses that looked expensive too.

'Varric!' Isabela exclaimed happily, 'what a surprise! Come sit down and share a remarkable good glass of whisky with us!'

'No time,' the dwarf retorted and added cryptically, 'I have to be back at the Gnawed Noble before Hawke's calmness wears off and she starts demolishing the tavern belongings once more. Berran won't be able to hold her back.'

'You may as well sit and have a drink while you explain, my friend,' Zevran said, 'you look like you could use one. You come with bad news I assume.'

'You don't know the half of it,' Varric grunted, plopping down in soft cushions, 'after a terrible fight with our dear leader Fenris has disappeared; Hawke got a fit and began throwing with things. At least one piece of pottery has given its life already and I fear more will follow once she starts raging again. And that is just the good part of the story.'

'Eh, Varric ...'

'Yes Rivaini, I will come to the point.' He took a sip of the indeed heavenly whisky and told what had happened concise and unadorned which was so unlike him that it greatly accentuated the gravity of the situation.

After he had finished, Zevran pensively tapped his lower lip with his finger and said, 'This is definitely very serious. Luckily I have a few contacts in this city I can call upon. They know the ins and outs of the place and one of them in particular owes me a favour.'

'That was what I was hoping for,' Varric grumbled a little relieved. The Antivan elf stood up determinedly. 'Come, my lovely pirate, we have work to do that can't wait.'

'When we find that Tevinter idiot I'll tell him a thing or two about the sins of spoiling what promised to be a perfect evening,' Isabela groused but followed Zevran without hesitation.

Varric returned to the Gnawed Noble, hoping with all his might the Antivan assassin would be successful, preferably on a very short notice, i.e. before Fenris had turned into a corps and Hawke into a seething ogre.

* * *

**Poor Fenris, yes I know ... I'm terribly sorry ...**

**Still, something _had_ to happen between those two; somewhat too much frisking bunnies, pink roses and shining rainbows.**

**But even if you want to throw things at me right now, thank you for reading!**

**(By the way, I always appreciate you opinion.)**


	23. Chapter 23

**Is somebody of the opinion Hawke acted somewhat as an inconsiderate cow in the last chapter? She certainly thinks so herself.**

**This and a lot more.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 23

Hawke was nursing the pint of ale Berran had poured her. She was deep in thought, endlessly reflecting on the – conversation between her and Fenris. She smiled wryly. Conversation, a nice euphemism for an ordinary slanging match. No, not just any slanging match. She took a shivering breath. They had been trying desperately to convince one another to see their point of view. That was nothing new of course, usually that was the purpose of having an argument. But this had been different. Bit by bit it got through to her Fenris had tried to make her understand how dangerous this Hadriana was. Had she really been listening? Hell no. She had stopped heeding attention to whatever he was saying after his declaration he wanted to go after that woman by himself and jumped into her own conclusions. She could feel the same sensation of a frosty hand closing around her heart this very moment. Again it drove the air out of her lungs but now for a different reason. He had stated he wanted to save her and she had screamed the most terrible hurtful things back. Above all she had called him a coward. She cringed at the memory of her own words. He had been willing to throw himself into danger at her benefit and she had called him a coward. Because she'd assumed he didn't want to fight his past any longer and just gave in the moment an old feared name turned up. He had been willing to _plunge_ into that very past to keep her alive and she had called him a coward. She felt horrible.

Her thoughts trailed along the way how she had behaved after she and Carver had found the dead body of that first Seeker; or more precisely, since the moment they discovered that rotten pendant. She saw a pattern. She had been driven by fear and panic ever since and it had got worse after her father and the essence of her magic became involved. And Fenris – yes he – had been the one who had held her together. Who had endured her fits and outbursts because she had been making a habit out of losing herself. And the moment he got caught by his past and, understandably was torn apart by it, she, instead of being supportive, turned against him and called him a _coward_. The word kept echoing in her head.

Hadn't she been the one who said she was afraid to drive him away by saying something stupid? What a brilliant prophecy that turned out to be. She laid her arms upon the table and rested her head on top of them, swallowing back tears of remorse and guilt. Oh Maker, what an utmost self-centred twat she had been. Berran watched her with care and almost flinched when she suddenly sat straight.

'I'm a thoroughbred bitch, aren't I,' she said with a grim look in her eyes. He was so taken aback he didn't know how to react let alone what to say. He just looked at her, sitting still as a statue, afraid to do something that would make her go off. She smiled thinly. 'I know you agree but are too scared of how I might respond to admit it.' She snorted sarcastically. 'And that only proves it.'

'I'm not quite certain what you're hinting at,' he said warily.

Hawke sighed and suddenly looked very sad. Absentmindedly she drew small circles in a little puddle of spilled ale with her index finger. 'Of course you don't,' she said softly, 'I've always been the sarcastic and impulsive kind but very rarely changed into a hysterical frenzied bronto. It's a nasty habit I developed since, well since ...'

'Since you met me,' the Seeker completed her sentence.

Hawke looked up. 'I _meant_ to say, since this whole mess started. And yes, you're part of it.' She gave him a fleeting smile. 'But I don't blame you. I only have myself to blame. And now I've chased away the only one who ...' She bit her lip and grunted loudly out of frustration. She wanted to bang her head on the table but perhaps that wasn't such a good idea. It would only emphasize the hysterical frenzied bronto part.

'You didn't chase him away Hawke,' Varric's baritone sounded all of the sudden behind her, 'I told you before neither of you two were able to reason in a normal way or to reason at all. He just acted without using his brain.'

She twirled to face him. 'Did you find him?' The high expectation drowned immediately in disappointment when she saw he was alone.

Varric sat down next to her. 'No, but I put the one person on his tail who is able to. Zevran is looking for him. He knows this city far better than we do and he has his contacts.' He waved to the bartender to order more ale. The man – what was his bloody name again? – was quick enough to comply with his request but tarried unnecessary long while putting a pitcher and fresh mugs on the table and taking the used ones away. He even made a show of cleaning the table with a ragged cloth. The dwarf frowned; he found it strange if not somewhat suspicious behaviour and decided to keep an eye on the fellow.

'Who says Fenris is still in Denerim?' Hawke objected in the meantime, 'he might be on his way to Amaranthine or has taken a ship –'

Varric put a hand on Hawke's arm as a warning gesture to prevent her from talking until the bartender had again taken his position behind the counter.

'What is it?' Hawke asked a little irritably.

'Call it my dwarven instinct or my sound merchant's distrust but something tells me we have to be careful with that bugger around. I get the feeling he seems too eager to eavesdrop.'

'In my experience all bartenders are curious,' Hawke muttered, 'they like to gossip like old shrews to keep you around long enough to sell you another drink. It's part of the business tactic I suppose.'

'You may be right but it doesn't hurt to stay alert. And above all, we don't want him to blether around to all the customers about our affairs. You never know who will get funny ideas. To answer your remark, I can't imagine our elf has found a ship to take him out of Denerim on this short notice. And where to? Back to Kirkwall? To what avail? And even in his current state of mind I can't imagine him rushing to Tevinter, which would be the stupidest thing to do. As far as I comprehend your – er, report – he thinks this Hadriana woman is on her way to Denerim and I'm convinced he wants to try to intercept her on Fereldan soil.'

Hawke wasn't convinced. 'And who says she isn't travelling by sea?'

'If that's the case it would be useless to take a ship unless he intends to hire or steal a galleon to start a sea battle. Even you must recognize that's highly unlikely. It could well be he set off his investigation here in Denerim but even if he has left the city, Zevran will find out and pursue him without further ado. Don't doubt that.' He wasn't at all certain what would happen if the Antivan assassin succeeded in his mission; he had no idea how he would manage to drag a mighty upset and determined Fenris back to the Gnawed Noble without being run through with a sword or a fist but he was wise enough not to say that out loud.

Hawke let out a deep sigh. 'This is my entire fault,' she said in a small voice.

'Stop beating yourself up over this, Hawke.'

'If it weren't for me he wouldn't have run off,' she protested, 'if I had been listening to him instead of shouting and calling him names I could have persuade him to stay.'

'I highly doubt that. Not able to reason remember?'

'I called him a coward, Varric. A _coward_!' The longer she contemplated this, the more wretched she felt. Then she huffed and pursed her lips. _Get yourself together. You will achieve nothing with wailing and whining. It's time you give yourself a good whack around the ears and stop feeling sorry for yourself. _

Varric realized that the angry woman he'd left behind, had in his absence turned into a by guilt ridden pool of misery. That kind of thing happened too often of late. He thought back at the days she could wield her anger as a well honed dagger but at the same time make a witty comment or burst out laughing the next moment. She still did that now and again, but he feared she was sliding down towards depression and desperation. He casted a veiled poisonous glance at the Seeker and wished the man had never turned up to make everything difficult and complicated.

'I'm sure he didn't take it personally,' he said lamely.

Before she could react Berran intervened. 'Would someone finally tell me what happened? Besides the obvious heated argument I mean.'

Varric cocked an eyebrow in surprise. 'Hawke didn't tell you?' 'No.' 'And you didn't ask?'

Berran shrugged. 'It didn't seem very safe to do so.'

'Ah. Of course. Because after your uninvited appearance and all the consequences of your fiery ambition, our leader is changing into a dangerous marbari that would tear your throat out at uttering a wrong word.' The dwarf was staring icicles at the Seeker.

'I sooner thought about a bronto,' Hawke said unperturbed, 'a hysterical and frenzied one to be precisely. Although I must admit the image of a marbari sounds more appealing; after all they defend the ones they care for to their last gasp. And never call them a coward,' she added sourly. "What?' she asked when she saw the astonished glares of Varric and Berran. 'I decided to change my demeanour back to normal, my normal that is, before I definitely turn in some kind of blubbering waif. Something wrong with that?'

'Not at all,' Varric hastened to say, 'I'd applaud it. By the way, Hawke, maybe a marbari doesn't _tell_ you you're a coward, but you don't know if it doesn't _think_ it, do you.'

Hawke looked at him intensely. 'This was a test, I presume?'

'You could call it that.' The dwarf shot her a radiant smile.

'I see. Don't push your luck. You'd better make yourself useful and update our gloomy brother in arms over there before he combusts with curiosity.'

* * *

He was floating in and out of consciousness and every time it was harder to hold on. The at first clear sounds of creaking wood and sloshing water had little by little faded into a muffled drone as if they by now tried to penetrate his ears through a thick layer of cotton wool. His breath went shallow and rattled. Breathing in general had become an exhausting battle; not only because of the excruciating pain it caused but it also seemed he just wasn't able to take in enough air to fill his lungs. He coughed up blood and almost chocked. It kindled a new sharp pain behind his ribs that overruled the throbbing agony in his shoulders but he was too weak to moan. He hadn't been able to keep sitting up and was now lying on his side, gasping superficially with little profit. His head was spinning as if he'd been drinking too much wine and he felt nauseous. He had completely lost track of time and couldn't tell it was day or night. There had been little light to start with but he didn't know whether it had been casted by a clouded sun, a bright moon or perhaps a torch. He wasn't able to open his eyes anymore. He just lay, breathing laboured, too shattered to move or even think.

One time he thought he heard voices.

'You idiot, why didn't you warn me earlier?!'

'He looked like a tough one; I thought he would heal soon enough on his own. Besides, his injuries didn't seem that grave.'

_Strange accent, heard it before, don't remember ..._

'Yes, I can see that,' the first voice sounded mordantly, 'now go and fetch a healer.'

'Where?'

'I don't care! Ask around! There must be someone of use in this blasted city! But hurry. I don't want him dead, he's too valuable.'

The voice might have sounded worried, the owner however hadn't bothered to relief him from his bounds.

He drifted off again, he felt so immensely tired. Slowly the pain started to subdue and he was grateful for it. First it felt like he was wrapped in soft velvet, after that his body gradually went numb. He knew what it meant, life was seeping out of him but he had no longer the strength to fight. The vision of Marian's lovely face appeared behind his closed eyes, vivid as if she was sitting next to him. She smiled at him and told him she loved him. He smiled back at her and whispered the same. He saw the brightness of her sapphire eyes, the softness of her lips, the golden daylight on her honey-coloured cascading hair; he could even imagine her fingers traced through his hair and caressed his face with an infinite tender touch.

And then the black oblivion of the Void closed him in.

* * *

'Serah Hawke, you really have to eat something. You're helping no one, Fenris in the least, if you faint from lack of food,' Wynne said in a reasonable or – far worse – rather motherly tone that drove Hawke totally bonkers. She tried not to pay attention. Listlessly she moved the food on her plate around with her fork and poked at a piece of celery as if the vegetable had offended her.

'I'm not hungry,' she grumbled.

'Of course not, Hawke, sick of worry as you are. As we all are,' Varric said, stuffing a large piece of pork in his mouth and washing it down with a draught from his mug.

'So I see,' she said tetchily.

Wynne had returned not long before with the message the Queen would visit them the next day. Elissa Cousland apparently had been all too eager to take the opportunity to flee the palace for a few hours, if only to have a legitimate reason to drink a pint in the Gnawed Noble while giving information about the dwarven Grey Warden Sigrun. And to forget about the duties of dealing with a troublesome country for a spell.

The First Enchanter had affirmed Varric's trust in Zevran about finding Fenris. 'If there's anyone who can succeed it is him,' she had said, 'he is highly skilled, cunning and knows everyone worth knowing.'

But Hawke was neither blind nor deaf. She had seen the dark glint of anxiety in Wynne's eyes and the small twitch at the corner of her mouth; she had heard the tiny tremble in her voice and above all the "if". She didn't want "if", she wanted assurance but knew damn well she wouldn't get it. She had no other choice than to wait and hope it would turn out well. She hated it.

'Come on Hawke, just one little bite. Just for me,' Varric pleaded.

'Yes and we all know where that leads to,' Hawke retorted gruffly, 'a little bite for Mummy, a little bite for Daddy, a little bite for goodwife Amalia with the nice kitty cat ...' she casted a devilish glance at the dwarf, 'a little bite for aunty Aveline and one for the funny uncle Varric with his fetish for sharp mistresses ...'

Wynne burst out laughing and even Berran couldn't stifle a snigger.

'Anything to help you empty your plate,' Varric responded straight-faced, 'if we're forced to pull your elf out of a fray and you keel over half-way because of lack of nutriment, I don't want to be the one to explain why afterwards.'

Hawke skewered a piece of meat and stuck it into her mouth. She chewed industriously and swallowed ostentatiously. 'There. Satisfied?'

'Anything to keep you from collapsing,' Varric replied with a honeyed smile, 'I do hope you remember I'm not only in the possession of a sharp mistress but also a sharp pen ...? What would people say when they find out their favourite heroine wasn't able to act adequately because she refused to eat?'

'Write what you will,' Hawke said, defiantly sticking out her chin, 'I don't care. You can write, I can spread nasty rumours.'

'I wager I can beat you at that,' Varric beamed.

* * *

A few hours later she was walking back and forth the tap-room agitatedly, completely at the end of her tether. At that time they were the only ones left, the other guests and the bartender had gone to their beds, and even Edwina had retreated to her room. With a little smile she'd said she trusted the First Enchanter to restrain her companions from raiding her liquor stock. The only people still awake besides them were two night guards but they had for the time being discretely withdrawn in an adjacent room.

'What the hell is taking that blasted elf so long,' Hawke cried out in impotent despair. She turned vehemently to Varric. 'You said Zevran would find him!'

The dwarf raised his hands in defence. 'I said he was the best man for the job. And by Andraste's burning bloomers stop pacing like you're waiting for your next of kin to give birth!'

'That's it,' Hawke hissed and headed for the door, 'if you want anything done right, do it yourself. I'm going after him and don't try to stop me!'

She was halted by Berran's pressing sounding voice. 'Serah Hawke!'

She spun on her heels. 'What?' she spat. And then she saw him holding the squirming bartender in the scruff of his neck and pushing him forwards. 'I think this little piece of lowlife has to tell you something.'

'Please don't kill me,' the bartender squeaked, 'I only wanted to make some money! I didn't mean any harm!' Within a heartbeat she was onto him. Berran still had him in firm grip but Hawke took his tunic in a concrete grasp and pulled him close to put her fire spitting eyes at level. The man tried to recoil but in the solid hold of both the Seeker and an infuriated Hawke he pathetically failed.

'What have you done,' Hawke snarled and her hoarse voice promised lots of pain. She took in the in mortal fear twisted face of the man and a sudden insight struck her. 'No, let me guess, your money comes from Tevinter, doesn't it, you miserable excuse for life.' Her raised fist got caught by Varric. 'Let him speak,' the dwarf said and his cool voice was as a balm on her heated fury. She breathed deeply and let loose of the fabric. She took a step backwards.

'You have him?' she asked Berran without taking her eyes of off the wriggling man. The Seeker wrenched the bartender's wrists with his free hand behind the man's back in another steel grip and nodded. The bartender squealed louder. Hawke turned to Varric. 'He's all yours,' she growled, 'don't spare the worm.' Wynne moved to stand next to her and laid her hand on her arm.

The dwarf started with a long foreboding silence, pregnant with the promise of very dangerous and bleak events. It made the captive's knees buckle and widdle himself.

'What's your name?' Varric finally decided to ask. At that point the bartender had to cope with a strong hand still holding his neck like a vice, a pair of arms almost ripped out of their sockets, an enraged woman who, by the look on her face, very much wanted to disembowel him and only got held back by another – seemingly elderly but nevertheless very dangerous looking woman, and a dwarf who eyed him in such a neutral way it could only mean death. The in itself innocent question hit home like a tactical placed fist in the stomach. He widdled some more.

'Doryl,' he wheezed.

'I caught him while he was trying to sneak out of the backdoor,' Berran explained, 'call me paranoid but as a Seeker I could smell he was up to nothing good.'

Varric didn't answer the Seeker, he just kept his eyes fixed on the squirming bartender. 'Well, Doryl, care to tell us what you were planning to do or, more importantly, who you were going to pay a visit?'

'Please Messere! I don't know anything! I was only paid to inform Elsy at the palace kitchens about a strange looking elf!' the man cried out. Berran changed his grip on the powerless wrists and the bartender screamed in agony. Hawke could swear she heard the crack of a breaking bone but at this moment she couldn't care less. Her whole body went taut and if it hadn't been for Wynne who held her arm in a surprisingly strong grip for a woman her age, she would have pounced upon the bartender to tear him to pieces.

'I kill him,' she panted, struggling against Wynne's grasp, 'I fucking kill him!'

'No Serah Hawke, don't interfere,' the First Enchanter said with a maddening calm voice, 'let the dwarf and the Seeker do their job.' She let her eyes linger on the latter. 'Although I really wished you wouldn't take such extreme measures, Berran, I don't think that's necessary.' Berran's grumbled answer didn't promise anything.

'And who told you about the "strange looking elf"' Varric continued, still in that deadly flat tone.

'I ... I can't ...' Another crack and a new agonized scream. 'Alright, alright! Elsy is a Tevinter spy! She told me about the elf!' At this point tears were streaming down Doryl's face. 'She pays me to give information about any customer of interest and about the slaver hunters.'

Varric wrinkled his brow. 'The what?'

'The slaver hunters,' Doryl screech, 'the young elves at the Alienage who go after Tevinter slavers. I thought the tattooed elf had something to do with that. I heard your conversation about the elf being missing and I thought Elsy would want to know that. I just wanted to earn some coin,' he ended sobbing.

Varric snorted mirthlessly. 'Perhaps next time you should reconsider your choice of employer. Does the name Danarius trigger a memory? Or Hadriana?'

'Yes! Yes!' Doryl bawled, 'Danarius, I remember that name! Elsy works for him! She told me once. Will you let me go now?!'

Varric looked as if he contemplated the request. 'No,' he stated coldly after some moments. 'Tell me about this Elsy.'

'She, she is a baker,' Doryl snivelled; by now he had turned into the personification of misery, 'she works at the palace but she was born in Tevinter.'

'And why would she be interested in some upstart elven youth?'

'I don't know!' the bartender wailed, 'I only know she's paid by a Tevinter Magister called Danarius. A few years ago she said I should report when I saw an elf with white marks. She said he was a runaway slave and worth a lot of money.' He looked pleadingly at the dwarf but only received a cold look back.

Hawke was reminded at Fenris's words about how Danarius every time succeeded in tracking him down and that he suspected it was because of his markings. He had been right after all though not in the way he'd imagined it.

'So,' Varric said, fingering his crossbow in a deceptive carelessly way, 'as I understand well you ran immediately to this Elsy after our arrival. My, must you two have been surprised that after all these years the priceless elf popped up in Denerim of all places! You must have considered yourself already a rich man because of the reward after he got caught. And then the elf disappears again and shatters your dream. Time for another consultation with the baker. Such a pity Berran over here intervened, isn't it. Don't tell me those slaver hunters were your priority today,' he snorted.

'I think we should grace the treacherous baker with an unexpected visit,' Hawke said viciously.

At that very moment the front door of the tavern got flung open and Zevran marched in, closely followed by Isabela. Hawke turned at the noise and her eyes grew wide with hope. 'Zevran! Did you find him? Where is he?!'

The two rogues had halted at the doorstep, taking in the scene.

'Ah, I see you've caught a rat,' Zevran said.

Berran let go of the bartender who dropped on the floor with all the elegance of a moaning sack of potatoes. No one paid him any attention except for Wynne who took care of him, or rather his broken wrists. Doryl looked at her through bleary but grateful eyes.

'Don't mind him,' Hawke snapped edgily, 'what did you find out? Why is Fenris not with you?'

Isabela gave her wan smile. 'Sweetness, we could do with a shot of whisky after all the running around we did.'

Hawke got rigid. 'Is he ...' she didn't dare to finish the sentence. 'No,' Isabela reassured her, 'he's not dead. But things got complicated.'

'What do you mean, complicated?!'

Zevran sauntered to the counter, stooped over it and produced a bottle of whisky. He opened it and took a large gulp before handing it to Isabela. 'Bartenders always keep the good stuff under the counter,' he declared and turned his attention to an ever more impatient growing Hawke. 'We found your lover,' he said, 'but I'm afraid not in the best of circumstances. He is being held captive on an Antivan ship.'

Hawke frowned no comprehensively. 'Captive? On an Antivan ship ..?' she echoed in a hesitant tone. That was one of the last things she had expected.

'Crows?' Varric informed.

Zevran shook his head. 'No, the Crows have nothing to do with it. Our friend is held on a merchant ship. They sold wine and leather to Ferelden.' He smiled thinly. 'Apparently now they are planning to sell a lyrium infused elf to Tevinter.'

'Since when do Antivan merchants act like slavers?' Varric asked perplexed.

Zevran shrugged elegantly. 'They don't usually, only when they're convinced there's little risk and great profit involved. We Antivans like profit, yes. A lot. I can't say I'm proud about the occasional trade in slaves but there it is and our friend has fallen victim to it.'

Marian was already at the door. 'What are we waiting for?'

"Er, an army?' Isabela said, 'sweetness, we're talking about a full manned ship. At least fifty hands if not more. Antivans take their merchandise very seriously and guard it with the ferocity a mother bear guards her cubs.'

'I don't care,' Hawke hissed through pressed lips and walked off.

'Should I bother with "told you so"?,´ she heard Isabela say to whomever cared to listen. The next moment she felt the presence of Berran at her back. He grabbed her elbow. ´Serah Hawke, I´m with you. But I think it's wise to hear what the two rogues have to tell first before you rush into a fight that could end badly.´

Hawke took a deep breath. 'I don't intend to attack the ship like a brainless idiot but I want to see the situation with my own eyes. It will make it easier to decide what our next step will be. I'm certain Zevran and Isabela can tell us what happened on the way to the docks.' She gestured at the crouching figure on the wooden floor. 'But before that Berran, do me a favour and tie that piece of nugshit up before he causes more disasters.'

'I swear I have nothing to do with –' Doryl started but was silenced with such an icy glower it almost froze him. He snapped his mouth shut.

* * *

'Evidently it all started with a bar brawl,' Isabela said while they stepped outside in the cool air of the late evening. Thankfully it had stopped raining although certain dampness still lingered.

'A bar brawl? That doesn't sound like Fenris,' Hawke objected.

'It was definitely not his idea,' Zevran commented darkly, 'he was lured into a trap.'

'That doesn't sound like Fenris either.'

'Er, Hawke, must I keep underlining the non thinking part?' Varric sounded behind her back.

Marian waved a hand irritably. 'Yes, yes, I know. Please go on.'

'Regrettably it took us some time to track down my contact,' Zevran continued, 'there are a lot of obscure inns and taverns in Denerim, especially in the harbour district. But finally we found him and hit the jackpot, to put it that way. Who could have thought that he, of all people, had witnessed the event?'

Varric began to regret he hadn't brought his notepad and pen with him; on the other hand it would have been impossible to write anything down while attempting to keep up with the murdering pace Hawke had started. He had to rely on his memory as so often before.

'Is this contact of yours trustworthy?' Hawke asked, her voice edged with suspicion.

'Ah, mia bellezza, I know what you're thinking. Who can trust a Crow, yes? Rest assured, this person is, just like me, no longer with the Antivan Assassins and I saved his life when he was trying to escape them. He would never deceive me. But allow me to tell what occurred. My contact, let's call him Fabio,' _speaking about trust, Hawke thought wryly,_ 'was sitting in a dark corner when our elf entered the establishment in the company of someone who is apparently known as the Weasel. Doesn't bode well, no? Moreover, Fabio saw at least half of the clientele stir in anticipation as if they already knew what was coming. Not a few moments later, just after Fenris had taken a sip of the ale he was served, he got up, alarmed it seemed. He was swaying and had to grab the edge of the table to keep his equilibrium. On cue more than ten men pounced upon him.'

'Drugged,' Hawke grumbled with an in fury chocked voice.

'Obviously there's no other explanation. But even drugged and staggering he managed to draw his sword and take out four of his assailants before they pulled him down.' Zevran paused. 'It seems they hit him hard. Next Fabio saw the culprits dragging him out of the tavern, bleeding and unconscious.'

Marian clenched her fists. 'I'll give them a taste of their own medicine,' she promised with a nasty snarl.

'I'm sure you will and I am grateful I won't be on the recipient end of your wrath. To cut a long story short, Fabio followed them and even got on board of the ship unseen and there he made a disturbing discovery.'

'And why would he do that?' Another twang of distrust wove through Marian's voice.

'Call it curiosity, or perhaps an old Crow habit would be a better explanation.' The Antivan elf sighed before he continued. 'He heard the ship captain bargain with a group of Tevinters about the price of a lyrium infused slave. The Tevinters were apparently already travelling on the ship and sounded very pleased with the discovery and taken prisoner of our friend.'

Hawke quickened her pace what made Varric call out in protest. 'Hey, would you please slow down?! Not everyone has legs a mile long!' He cursed under his breath when he trotted into a muddy puddle.

'Hadriana?' was all Hawke said.

'No. There was no woman present, just a group of slavers.'

Wynne explained, 'Although they were defeated and driven out of the Alienage more than a year ago, bands of Tevinter slavers still try time and again to capture elves here in Denerim. Of course they are more cautious by now.'

'We have to get Fenris off that ship as fast as possible,' Marian said grimly, 'before they sail.'

'I agree, sweetness,' Isabela piped up, 'but as I said before we need an army and as far as I understand Denerim has hardly enough soldiers left to guard the palace after the Blight and the civil war.'

'We could make an appeal to the City Guard,' Varric suggested panting.

'On whose authority?' Wynne said and added ruefully, 'They won't take orders from others than their captain or the Queen or King. They won't listen to me, let alone to mere civilians who not even hail from the city.'

'It will take too long to find the Guard Captain or run to the palace,' Isabela put in another word, 'we have to come up with something different.'

And then a sudden brainwave hit Hawke. She stopped so abruptly that Isabela bumped into her and Varric almost lost his footing. 'Zevran, where is the Alienage?'

'On the other side of the Drakon River. We passed the bridge not too long ago. Why?'

A feral grin spread on her face. 'Because I think I just found ourselves an army.'

* * *

**Let's just hope Hawke and her "army" will be in time to rescue Fenris ... I really didn't want to make it this complicated but, well, as we all know, stories do intend to write themselves.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	24. Chapter 24

**I humbly apologize for the delay but computers have a nasty tendency to crash at the most inconvenient moments and by doing so devour everything you've already written. Bloody things. I hope you'll forgive me.**

**Back to the battle that's about to start.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 24

They were standing at the entrance of the docks, hidden in the dark. The quay was scarcely lit by the pinpricks of a few lanterns and sputtering braziers; of course the drizzle had started again and was slowly soaking them. Varric contemplated sulkily that it seemed as if the weather was trying to stone them to death with pieces of cotton wool. He suspected that if it sustained long enough Madam Weather eventually would have her way. Perhaps they wouldn't die of the wetness at this very instance but pneumonia and influenza were lurking around the corner. He sniffled and hoped to see another week without suffering from deadly diseases that would make Bianca a widow. Or a cripple, come to think about it. This cursed wetness could infect her as well as him.

Hawke lifted her hand and the muttering of voices and shuffling of feet behind her back immediately died away. As far as the darkness permitted, Hawke took the situation in. She saw several ships being moored, softly rolling on the gentle waves sloshing against the wood of the quay. At this late hour everything was quiet, even the office of the busy harbourmaster was deserted.

'Which one is our target?' she asked Zevran, who stood beside her, in a low voice. She had sent Isabela on a scouting mission to see if there were unwanted surprises waiting for them. It never seized to astonish her how the extravagant and boisterous woman managed to blend in with the environment to become a silent and as good as invisible shadow. Isabela's omnipresent and loud personality often made her forget she was a very skilled rogue.

'The last one,' the Antivan elf replied. Hawke observed a bulky vessel with a broad hull. She could discern some light glimmering through what seemed to be a curtained row of windows, a few yards above the waterline. She tried to compose a comment that would make sense. 'At least they haven't hoisted their sails yet,' she said hesitantly, 'that must be a good sign, yes?' She had no knowledge of sailing whatsoever and casted an uncertain sidelong glance at Zevran who chuckled. He might not be an authority like the pirate queen but had spent enough time aboard a colourful collection of vessels to be a whole lot more informed about the nautical know-how than Hawke who had made just two sea voyages in her entire life and at those occasions hadn't paid any attention at all at the technical part of how to move a ship or even how to keep it afloat.

'Don't worry cara mia, they won't be able to get that old tub ready to sail within a moment, to use Isabela's vocabulary. Besides that the tide isn't right.'

'Oh. Yes. Of course,' Hawke mumbled, 'the tide. Hadn't thought of that.'

'Serah Hawke, a word?' Berran asked. He took her apart and swayed his arm slightly in the direction of the band of elves that stood behind them. 'Do you really plan to launch a frontal attack on a well guarded ship with that ragtag army?'

Hawke looked at him and a little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. 'Who says anything about a frontal attack? I want to use stealth, at least to get aboard. But, ah, I almost forgot stealth isn't exactly your strong suit, is it,' she said teasing.

'You don't have to remind me,' the Seeker grumbled.

'And what's perhaps more important, your so-called ragtag army have the determination of a pack of Marbari about to sink their teeth into the enemy. Or should I say of a bunch of Seekers chasing after an innocent victim?'

Berran stared hard at her. 'You're annoying me on purpose.'

'Perhaps,' Hawke grinned.

'I can only hope that the elves will show the discipline that's needed to be victorious,' Berran said wearily.

'Well, we can never be certain but I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. They have morale on their side, a whole lot of it. That's a strong weapon.'

She threw a glance over her shoulder upon the group of about sixty mostly young elves. It hadn't been as easy to recruit them as she'd imagined when the thought had arisen. The youngsters had been eager enough but Shianni, who was the Alienage's Hahren, a function similar to a Dalish Keeper as far as Hawke understood, had been very suspicious at first.

Hawke had been pleasantly surprised when they strode through the Alienage, led by Zevran on whose advice they were searching for the Hahren. Despite the late hour the elven quarter had been lit by a number of lanterns that hung over the doors of the shacks – small houses, Hawke corrected herself; these dwellings looked in a good state of repair, not on the brink of collapsing like in Kirkwall. The roads were free of mud and puddles, here and there were little well maintained vegetable gardens.

'A lot has changed since the last time I visited this place,' Zevran had said with admiration, 'at that time it was a gloomy slum filled with dirt, disease and despair.'

'Times have changed, my dear Zevran,' Wynne had replied, 'and Shianni is a very strong-minded Hahren with a mouth that can spit fire and she's not afraid to use that at court to ventilate her opinions and get her way. She not only bullied the royal counsel to get funds to rebuild the Alienage after the Blight but also her own elves to accomplish that task.'

They had been followed by an increasing number of curious elves until they had reached the Vhenadahl Tree, that was brilliantly alight with dozens of lanterns, where they had met with Shianni. Hawke had addressed her politely and explained why they were here. But the red-haired elven leader had neither been impressed nor enthusiastic.

'Who says you're not slavers yourself,' she had said with a piercing glower, standing next to the giant tree with the composure of a stubborn queen, 'or want to use our elves as fodder for enemy arrows?'

Hawke had bristled indignantly but before she could ruin the negotiations before they had even started, Zevran had stepped forward. 'My lovely Shianni, beautiful and fierce as ever,' he'd said with a disarming smile and an elegant bow, 'you remember me, yes?'

Luckily she did and apparently Zevran had left a good impression insofar that Shianni trusted him. And finally, after a lot of back and forth talking she had given her young warriors permission go with them. Hawke had to admit Berran wasn't far off with that "ragtag army"; the elves were mostly armed with light bows, short swords of dubious quality and simple wooden shields but she was confident they would compensate the lack of decent weaponry with fanaticism. And the orderly and silent way they had marched behind them on the short route to the docks had convinced her they didn't lack discipline. Their leader was named Soris; he was a few years older than the others and a cousin to Shianni.

'Be careful now,' Hawke told the elves, 'the quay seems abandoned but we don't want to cause anyone to sound an alarm. Stay in the shadows, make as little sound as possible. We have to reach the last ship in this row without being seen or heard.'

At that moment Isabela emerged out of the gloom. 'I couldn't detect any direct danger,' she reported, 'otherwise that strangely enough the gangplank is down. It almost looks as if they're expecting someone. On the other hand there're only two sentries posted so they definitely aren't expecting an army.'

Hawke frowned. 'Why is it strange the gangplank is down?'

'Because, sweetness, no captain with half a brain wants the part of his crew that's not on leave to sneak ashore to go on a spree in the harbour's taverns. You never know when or even if they will return with all the important bits still attached and less if they haven't signed on another ship with the promise of better prospects.'

'But I thought pirates were notorious of going on a rampage or spree or whatever they do in every harbour they dock,' Hawke contradicted.

'Of course they do. But you can rely on them to return to their captain the next day, that is if they're not dead or imprisoned. If they don't, you're a lousy captain and don't deserve a faithful crew. But these are no pirates. These hands will change ship as often as whores change their outfit if they think it will bring them greater profit.'

Hawke shook her head. 'Right. Another useful lesson learned. Back to the task at hand.' She turned to Soris. 'I need your two best archers to come with me. I rely on you to choose them. Isabela, you also come with me. The rest of you wait here.' She thought for a second. 'You move the moment you hear Isabela's whistle but be silent. And Wynne,' she hesitated, 'please don't put yourself in danger.' She hadn't been happy the First Enchanter had joined them. Sure enough she knew she had played a significant role in ending the Blight but nevertheless the woman looked frail and she would feel terrible if anything would happen to her under her command.

Wynne smiled enigmatically. 'Don't fuss over me, Serah Hawke, I faced worse.'

Hawke sighed. 'Alright then. Let's go.'

Together with the two elves Soris had picked, Hawke and Isabela cautiously stole toward their unsuspecting targets, carefully staying in the shadows. They halted under the cover of an awning of a closed market stall. Isabela pointed at two men guarding the gangplank on the ship, standing under a brightly burning lantern. Hawke nodded. But before she could utter a word, the sentries went down, both with an arrow through their throats. They hadn't had the chance to cry out or even gurgle; the only sound they made was a low thud when their bodies hit the deck. Wide-eyed Hawke stared from the ship back to the two elves who gave her a smile with a grim edge.

'Wow!' Isabela murmured in awe, 'that's what I call a shot! Even Varric could learn something from that.' She stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a short sharp whistle. Hawke, who hadn't expected Isabela to be this loud, knitted her brows. 'And they didn't hear that?' she mouthed, directing at the ship with her head.

Isabela flashed her a grin. 'Deckhand sign, sweetness,' she whispered, 'nothing they would get suspicious about. Alright, I'm going to look around on the ship, you wait here for me.' The pirate queen hurried over the gangplank and seemed to dissolve into the darkness within seconds. Around the same time the elven army arrived together with Varric, Zevran, Wynne and Berran.

Isabela returned as quietly as she had set off. 'It is as that Fabio character said,' she reported, 'there are six Tevinter slavers on board, all gathered in the captain quarters under the bridge.' She sighed when she saw the question mark on Hawke's face. 'At the front of the ship, the bow, on your right-hand side.' She groaned inwardly. 'They are drinking with the captain and his first mate. One of them is a mage. There's one sentry on the bridge, or should I say "was" since he isn't anymore.'

'You killed him?'

Isabela cocked an eyebrow. 'I didn't hear you complain when those amazing elves made short work of the two other guards. I can't help it the man wasn't flighing-knifeproof.'

'I'm not complaining,' Hawke grinned darkly. 'I just wanted to make sure.'

'Good. The crow's nest is abandoned as was expected since the ship is docked and the rest of the hands are in the hold. Probably snoozing in hammocks or playing carts. The hatch leading to the hold is at ... at the left of you,' she said, rolling her eyes.

'Fenris?' Hawke asked curtly.

'Haven't seen him, but my guess is he's somewhere below deck. Most ships, even merchant's one's have some kind of jail because you can bet your knickers someone is going to misbehave on a voyage and has to be punished. Some captains prefer flogging, others lock the miscreants up until they know again how to behave.'

Hawke looked hesitantly. 'I'm not sure if having a battle on a ship is such a good idea. It will be very cramped and chaotic.'

Isabela put a hand on her hip. 'You want to lure them out? I'm telling you now they won't bite. A captain will not abandon his ship when there's peril, not even in a harbour. And besides that, I do hope your eyesight is well enough to distinguish an elf from a sailor or a slaver?'

Hawke bowed her head and tried to think. She was afraid everyone would bump into each other on that deck, on the other hand they would have the element of surprise. She turned to Varric. 'Could Bianca blow the door out of the captain's quarters?'

The dwarf beamed broadly. 'She would be more than pleased to accommodate.'

'Then we'll get on that bloody ship and start with eliminating those slavers. If possible I want the captain alive. Come on, let's start this game.'

They sneaked aboard and on a single gesture of Soris the elves lined up in formation, swords and bows at the ready. Hawke stepped in front of them, her daggers already drawn.

'I want ten archers to take position in that, that rope maze thingy,' she ordered in a soft tone.

Isabela winced as if she was physically hit. 'It's called rigging,' she corrected sternly.

'I don't care what's it called, as long as they know what I mean. They will have an advantage up there. Soris?'

The elf already had sent the requested archers into the rigging; they nimbly climbed up and settled themselves, keeping their balance with their thighs and bare feet. They each nocked an arrow and waited for the moment to fire.

In the meantime Varric had been fiddling with his crossbow and now climbed on a crate, shouldering Bianca and aiming at his target. The next moment he let loose a volley of bolts and with a thunderous boom the door to the captain quarters exploded in a cloud of shards and splinters.

Hawke gaped open-mouthed at the wreckage. 'What the hell did you do with that crossbow?' she cried out flabbergasted.

'Bianca is a fiery mistress with some interesting secrets,' Varric tittered cheerful, 'but alas I can't share them. That's why there're called secrets, you see.'

'So much for stealth,' the Seeker commented with a hint of smugness in his voice.

'Well, yes, we don't need that any longer, do we,' Hawke replied dryly.

Not a moment later a whirl of ice shards came flying through the smashed door and Hawke threw herself on the floor. The elves simply raised their shields. But the attack was countered by a wave of kinetic energy before it could do any harm; the shards clattered on the deck and started to melt immediately. When she looked up, Hawke met the smiling face of Wynne, standing under the lantern next to Varric. For a moment she thought the Fereldan mage winked at her but she had no time to contemplate or even be surprised.

Now the hatch on the other side of the deck flew open and a band of sailors came swarming out of it, alarmed by the noise.

'Soris! Those are yours!' Hawke yelled, 'Varric, Wynne, cover us while we go for the Tevinters!'

Soris barked a few orders and while the elven archers shot their arrows into the fray from their vintage point, the rest of the warriors formed a phalanx, approaching the enemy in a tight line, shields locked together, swords sticking out. In the meantime Hawke darted to the captain's quarters, with Berran, Isabela and Zevran following in her wake. Varric shouted out a warning and they ducked behind a crate just before he again fired a volley of bolts, this time destroying a section of the wooden wall next to the door. Through the haze of wood dust and chips appeared some figures as shadows in the mist. The light streaming out off the captain's cabin lit them from behind and intensified the ghostly illusion. Hawke leapt forwards and lunged at the first person she encountered. The man parried her thrust just in time and struck back. Hawke deftly jumped out of his reach, twirled around and hit him with a backhand blow. With a cry he stumbled back, clutching at his arm.

Behind her back the hands had thrown themselves upon the elves, but the latter stood their ground. They held their shield wall with grim determination and stabbed with their shortswords at every limb and other body parts they could reach, at the same time crashing into the enemy with their shields, driving them back. How hard the sailors tried, they weren't able to break their strong formation. The elven slaver hunters roared their battle cries to add to the din and caused even more terror and confusion.

Hawke more felt than saw a movement behind her back but before she could react she got hit by a magic blow that swept her back; she crashed into the mainmast and fell heavily on the deck. 'Bloody hell,' she cursed, trying to scramble up and shaking her head to get rid of the dizziness. 'Wynne!' she called out, 'take that blasted mage down!'

'All taken care of sweetness,' Isabela, who appeared into her vision, smirked while she helped her up, 'flying knives, such a wonderful phenomenon. The bastard never knew what hit him.' Without an answer Hawke hurled herself into the fight again, aiming for a burly man whom she suspected to be the first mate. The man lunged at her with a large sabre; she denied the thrust by ducking agilely under the blade. She turned swiftly on the balls of her feet and plunged one of her blades into the man's side, leaping back again. With a howl he swung his sabre in a wide arc, slicing through the leather guard that protected her right underarm.

'You fucking idiot, you ruined my armour!' she growled but before she could pounce upon him, she got pulled away by Berran. The Seeker kicked the first mate in the stomach with such force that the man went flying backwards through the considerable widened door. A loud crash of breaking wood and glass indicated that he probably had hit a cabinet of some sorts.

'I could have handled him myself,' Hawke snapped. The Seeker nodded at her right hand. 'With just one dagger?' Hawke stared from her cut arm guard down to her dagger-less hand and further down to the very weapon lying on the floor at her feet. She must have lost it at the impact of the sabre but never realised it. She grinned sheepishly at Berran. 'A "thank you" should be in order I guess,' she said. He picked up the dagger and handed it to her with a little smile. 'Lead the way,' he said.

On the other side of the ship the elves encountered their first problem; the hatch was of course still open and had already swallowed three crewmembers who had fallen down the steep stairs with a piercing scream. The phalanx hesitated and came to a halt. They had to split in two to push on but by doing so they would make themselves vulnerable. The sailors felt their dilemma and started to shove back. Their long knives began to make their first casualties. Soris saw the beginning of a disaster. He had fought with his army but now climbed into the rigging to have a better sight of what was happening. He realized the danger. The sailors became more bold and the tight elven line started to waver.

'Close the breaches!' he roared, 'take a step back! Now! Count! Another step! Stay strong! Hold the line!' The elves gritted their teeth and stood firm once more. 'Hold them at the gap! Don't give them an inch; remember they are slavers!' That encouragement was enough to rekindle the flame of enragement. It didn't matter the Antivan sailors weren't slavers themselves, the fact they worked with the Tevinters sufficed to give the elven warriors the strength to fight them back. 'Keep shooting!' Soris ordered his archers, and he pointed out the targets. At that very moment a bronzed figure whirled himself into the battle.

Zevran had decided Hawke didn't need him any longer to fight a bunch of Tevinters now their mage was down. The brave young elves had more need of his assistance right now. 'Listen to your leader!' he cried, 'these slaver whores are nothing but a bunch of feeble cowards!' To emphasise his words he twirled through the shabby attempt of the counterattack and took several enemies down with an inimitable fast succession of movements. Drawing courage from Zevran's performance the army finally dared to split in two and before the sailors were aware of what was happening, they felt the iron of the swords and the wood of the shields battering them down. Their falling numbers increased rapidly. They were driven back beyond the obstacle of the opened latch to the railing of the ship where they got pinned down.

At that time Hawke and Berran were forcing the last of the Tevinters who had been wielding menacing longswords in a very skilled way, into a corner. Isabela had let loose her last throwing knife that had missed the target by an inch and joined them, her fighting daggers in her hands. The look on the faces of the slavers was a classic example of desperation, despite the longswords they were still holding. They knew they were beaten.

'Stop this!' a loud voice suddenly bellowed over the noise of the battle, 'stop this right now before you destroy my ship!' Hawke looked up to see the captain standing on the bridge, a sabre in one hand, the other one held high.

'Not before you yield and order your men to stop fighting!' Hawke shouted back.

'You come up here, women, and we parley.'

'You're in no position to parley, you fool. You're Tevinter friends are as good as dead,' she took a quick look around and the scene made her smile, 'and your men are defeated. I suggest you come down here and surrender. If you don't my friend here will take you down with one of her throwing knives before you can bat your lashes. Order your men to stand down and perhaps I will let you and your crew live.'

A short silence lingered before the captain threw his sabre on the floor.

'Just don't slaughter my men,' he said in a pleading tone.

'That's not my intend,' Hawke retorted. She turned once more. 'Soris?' she called out to the elven commander, 'tell your elves to step down. Or even better, find some rope and bind the men. But keep them alive. They will be brought to justice, I will see to it personally.' She turned to the captain who had by now descended from the bridge and stood meekly before her, 'as will a court decide about your fate. I'm no murderer. But you have made a pact with slavers. I find that unforgivable.' Varric and Wynne came walking over.

'I think it is best to hand them over to the King and Queen,' the First Enchanter said. Hawke nodded. 'I agree.' And then her eyes narrowed. 'Where is the elf you took captive?' she snarled. The captain backed away, shocked by her sudden intimidating glare. Barren caught his arm before he could flee.

'I, eh, in the hold, but, but he,' the captain stuttered but Hawke didn't let him finish.

'Make sure this lowlife won't get away,' she grumbled, 'I go looking for Fenris.' She turned on her heals and ran to the opened latch, ignoring the chaos of sailors being tied up and others still trying to resist without avail. Descending the flight of steps she passed three dazed men clinging on to the steep stairs with a bewildered look in their eyes without paying any attention to them. 'Fenris!' she cried out.

* * *

Berran held the captain in a firm grip while he dragged him to his captured men. Isabela and Varric had tied the three still living Tevinter slavers to the stairs leading to the bridge with the promise they would encounter much worse misery in the near future and after that followed Berran and Wynne. Zevran and Soris joined them.

'You make me ashamed of calling myself an Antivan when I look upon you,' Zevran spat at the squirming captain, 'making deals with Tevinter slavers! How could you sink so low!'

'You're Antivan,' the captain squeaked, 'you know it's all about profit!' Isabela just caught Zevran's fist before it hit the captain's face. 'Let him speak,' she hissed. Zevran's reaction might have been out of character but she felt the same emotion raging through her system. Slavers made her nauseous. On the other hand did it serve no purpose to beat a man into a bloody pulp if he might have valuable information. Zevran seemed to realise the same and backed down.

'Who paid you to do this?' Berran pressed, twitching the captain's arm. Varric mused it was definitely the man's favourite way of interrogation. The captain screamed out in agony. 'I don't know!' he exclaimed.

'Don't give me that bullshit,' Berran rumbled.

'I really don't know,' the captain cried. His men stared at him with a mixture of fear and contempt. 'The mage came to me with a proposition. He told me he got information about a tattooed elf. He said I would be paid handsomely for the guy. I sent a lad after him. He lured him –'

They got interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream followed by a rattling noise as if somebody was trying to break the iron bars of a prison with their bare hands.

'What the –' Isabela started and stormed off; she literary glided down the steep, narrow wooden stairs leading to the hold. Berran immediately pursued her. He dragged the captain along, not caring one bit the man stumbled over the first step and bumped his way down on his behind.

Hawke was lying on her knees, powerlessly clutching the iron bars.

´He's dead,' she cried, 'the bastards killed him.'

Varric, who had descended more cautiously, stared in horror at the still form of the Tevinter elf, lying motionless on his side. 'No,' he whispered, 'this is not the way the story is supposed to end.' Isabela was already picking the lock, not waiting for the captain to produce the key.

Hawke looked up and caught sight of the Antivan captain, hauled upon his feet again by Berran. Her eyes grew wide with rage and she jumped to the man with a feral snarl. Her hands gripped around his throat. 'What have you done to him, you fucking son of a bitch?!' she roared. At this very moment she wished she had the ability to rip out his heart with her bare hands. Instead she shook him vehemently, almost crushing his larynx. 'Tell me!' she screamed. The man made some pathetic gurgling noises and she felt a force on her arms that drew her away. She tried to fight against it.

'No Serah Hawke, don't kill him, he can be of use,' the Seeker tried to calm her down.

'I don't care!' she screeched, 'I want him dead! He killed Fenris!' Varric hung with all his might on her left arm while Zevran pulled her right hand away from the captain's throat. With a heartbreaking sob she sagged against the Antivan elf, all strength suddenly seeped away. 'He's dead, they murdered him,' she whimpered.

And then Wynne called, 'He is not dead, Serah Hawke, he is breathing.'

Marian let out a loud gasp and darted into the opened cage, falling on her knees next to Wynne. The First Enchanter had already removed the bonds and carefully turned Fenris on his back, 'They bound him with enchanted ropes,' she said with disgust and started to examine him. 'He is badly wounded,' she concluded, 'mostly internal injuries. Broken ribs, a punctured lung, a torn spleen, badly bruised kidneys ... Maker, it's a wonder he still lives.'

'I didn't know he was in such a bad shape,' the captain babbled nervously, 'I sent for a healer but –'

'Shut up,' Berran snarled.

'Well, that at least explains why the gangplank was down,' Isabela said. 'Here's a little tip,' she added sarcastically, 'next time you take someone captive for money, try not to damage them too much, it's not good for the profit. I bet those Tevinters didn't know about this, hm.' The captain was wise enough not to answer.

'Please Wynne, can you heal him?' Marian pleaded, tense with desperation.

'I think I can but it will take time.' Her hands hovered over Fenris's frame, engulfing him with soft blue light. After a while she had to stop, too drained to carry on. 'This will have to do for the moment,' she said with a deep sigh, 'we can move him now without causing more harm. I suggest we take him to the palace, I'm certain Queen Elissa won't object. But we'll have to find something to lay him upon.'

'I can carry him,' the Seeker offered, 'he doesn't look that heavy.' But Wynne shook her head. 'No, he must lie flat; his body must be disturbed as little as possible.

'What about the latch to the hold?' Varric proposed.

While the others discussed the best way to transport Fenris, Marian sat down next to him. She softly touched his face that looked unnaturally pale. A smudge of dried blood ran from his hair past his ear to his throat. She had seen him bleed before but the way the dark colour stood out against the paleness of his skin made her cringe. She stroked his cheek and wiped away the moon-white bangs from his brow. She stooped over him and kissed him tenderly.

'Fenris, my love, can you hear me?' she whispered, 'I'm here for you, we all are, we're going to save you.'

He stirred and his lips moved. 'Rosemary,' he murmured. She was exalted to hear him make a sound and bowed closer.

'Fenris?'

With his eyes still closed, his hand moved as at a will of its own and his fingers touched her hair. 'Rosemary,' he sighed and smiled faintly. She took his hand in hers and placed a gentle kiss upon his palm. He took a shuddering breath and after that seemed to sink back into his deep unconsciousness once more.

'I will never change that scent,' she promised while she fought back her rising tears.

'Serah Hawke?' Wynne's voice sounded, 'we will take him to the palace now.' Marian nodded and reluctantly moved away.

* * *

An hour later Fenris was lying in a clean bed in one of the guestrooms in the royal palace. Wynne had treated him again and had said that in fact sleep was the best medicine for now. She had taken care of the nasty cut in Hawke's arm Marian hadn't even been aware of. The Antivan captain and the three remaining Tevinter slavers were locked up in the palace's dungeons. Berran had set of to collect the spy Doryl and bring him to the palace also; the treacherous baker was hauled out of her bed and thrown into the dungeons as well. King Alistair had ordered his own soldiers to relieve the elves and guard the Antivan crew until it was decided what to do with them.

Hawke sat next to Fenris on a chair close to his bed. She had refused to go to sleep and had only accepted a blanket to pull over her. She stared at his white face and sleeping frame. She hoped with all her might he would wake up ever again and, when he did, he wouldn't be angry with her about the horrendous things she had yelled at him. The hours crept slowly from night-time into early morning and despite her will to stay awake, fatigue finally overwhelmed her and she slowly slipped into a fast sleep.

* * *

**Fenris saved just in time ... phew! With that accomplished, it's time to pick up the mystery of the ring, the runes, the mine and who knows what more.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A warning up forehand: smut alert. Usually I would simply advice the ones who don't like that kind of stuff to skip the scene but I'm afraid this time you will miss important information. Perhaps you could read it with one eye closed ..? I promise I will explain more in chapters to come.**

**Whatever you decide to do, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 25

Leliana sat nursing a pint of dark beer in a corner of an inn somewhere near the Fereldan border. After having camped many nights out in the open it was a relief to spend the night under a roof once more. Together with the Wardens Elissa and Alistair she had been sleeping for months in a row in a tent or under the stars while they were fighting the Blight and at the same time trying to prevent a civil war. But for some reason or another it hadn't seem to be as uncomfortable back then to lie on a thin bedroll in the damp cold night air that seeped into her clothes as it did this time. Perhaps because they had been on a mission to save the world or at least Ferelden, she mused. And the fact that the decision to accompany the Wardens had been her own certainly had helped to overcome all the little discomforts. She had been convinced the Maker himself had given her that task, who was she to complain about a few stones in her back or the disgusting food Alistair managed to concoct. Her thoughts wandered to the moment she'd met Elissa Cousland in Barlin's tavern in Lothering in the middle of a fight. She suppressed a little smile; the woman had had a talent to attract all sorts of problems and many fights soon would follow.

The memory of Lothering brought her back to the reason why she was sent on a new mission. Marian Hawke. She remembered her well and still could hardly believe the girl was a mage. She had spent hours with her practicing the roguish skills of knife fighting and taught her the tricks of laying and avoiding traps. She knew of course her father and sister were mages – the whole village had known – but never had suspected it had passed on to Marian as well. If this was really the case, she hadn't been eager to show or use her endowment. Or had been extremely good at hiding it. Leliana let out a light sigh and took a sip of her ale.

Up till now the journey had gone smoothly; the commanding captain (or rather Baron Villefranche, Leliana suspected) had decided they would travel over land, disguised as a band of mercenaries to avoid unwanted identification and commotion. After all they were on an assignment to secretly take three persons into custody and it would be very inconvenient if their targets were warned up forehand. The weather had been fine, except for an occasional light shower, which was normal this time of the year, and they had made good progress.

Nevertheless the former bard didn't feel at ease. It was clear she was considered an outsider in their undercover special squad. The seven other members of their group had been carefully avoiding her and the captain, Ser Beaugris, had been throwing outright hostile glances in her direction when he thought she didn't notice. She had grown tired of it what was why she had separated herself from the others this evening. With the excuse she was feeling cold, she had moved to a small table close to the roaring fire. Summer was approaching fast, but in the south the nights could still be chilly. While she was ruminating over her memories of Marian Hawke, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Warily she watched how Ser Beaugris rose from his seat and strode towards her little corner beside the hearth in a determined way. He sat down on the bench opposite her.

He surveyed her coldly before he said straightforward, 'I've been keeping an eye on you, and although I haven't found or sensed anything suspicious, I simply don't trust you.' His icy pale blue eyes pierced into hers and would have made someone without her training shiver. Leliana kept her calm composure. 'I still wonder why Villefranche palmed you off on me. Speak up, has he sent you with us to spy on me? Are you to sabotage this expedition?'

'I don't know what you mean,' Leliana answered unperturbed, meeting his glance without a blink, 'he told me I was given this opportunity to proof myself. That's all.' His words didn't surprise her; she had been with the Seekers long enough to know they would sabotage anything, even operations of their own if they thought it would serve a greater purpose.

'To proof what exactly?'

'That I am worthy of becoming a senior Seeker. I was made to understand this is common practice.'

'Were you now.' Beaugris's harsh voice obtained a malicious undertone. He was silent for some heavy moments. 'I don't know what you did to gain Villefranche's confidence and frankly I don't want to know. But rest assured I will keep watching you, you little red haired bitch, and if I detect even the slightest suspicious behaviour, I will not hesitate to take severe measurements. Protégée of the big man or not, accidents can always happen. Do you understand?' he growled.

Leliana offered him her sweetest and most meekly smile. 'I understand perfectly, captain, but I assure you you won't find anything amiss. I have specifically been told to follow your orders.'

He glared at her some more but didn't seem able to entirely keep up his callous demeanour. 'I will not even give you the benefit of the doubt but you could start to win a sliver of trust by joining us at our table instead of isolating yourself.'

While she followed Beaugris's long, muscular frame, Leliana groaned inwardly. It would be far more difficult to spend time alone with Wynne and Marian Hawke than she already had feared.

* * *

Hadriana had never felt as relieved as when she got back on deck and inhaled deeply the tangy salt tasting air. They had been hit by a storm that had lasted for two days. Two horrific days of being tossed around and hurled up and down by waves that had been higher than the Argent Spire in Minrathous and more menacing than the gruesome beasts that were let loose in the Grand Proving Arena to devour each other or the men that were forced to fight them. Two never-ending days of an obligatory stay in the hold amidst people who were scared to death, praying out loud, yowling, screaming and vomiting and soiling themselves out of sheer dread. Two terrifying days in which she found out her magic was useless against the fury of this ferocious tempest and she was convinced she would perish.

When it was all over, she had been astonished the ship hadn't gone down and she had still been alive. She scrambled on deck and sank down against a wooden barrel that amazingly not had fallen overboard. She gulped in clean fresh air and stared at the clear blue sky above her, innocently bright as if nothing had happened.

'This was a narrow escape,' the voice of the captain sounded above her, 'even a seasoned old salt as I will admit that. The ship has suffered considerable damaged though and it will take some time to repair. I'm afraid our arrival at Amaranthine will be delayed by several days, if not a week.'

Hadriana just nodded and waved him off. She was more than glad she still was able to _be_ delayed, getting angry about it could wait for the moment.

* * *

When he woke the first thing Fenris discerned was that he was no longer in pain and then that he could breathe again. Soon after that he realized his bonds were gone and that he was lying in a bed. Apparently someone had made an effort to wash his bloodied and grimy body and dress him in a loose shirt of some kind of soft material, it felt like expensive silk; there were no bandages. He tested his lungs by taking in a few deep breaths. He encountered no difficulties; it was a blessing to be able to breathe freely again. He was still somewhat sore but the agonizing ache was gone. He was pretty sure the last time his consciousness still worked he was about to die but for some reason he was convinced he hadn't woke up in the Void. For starters, there was actual air to breathe in. He opened his eyes. It took a few moments to let his eyesight adjust to the dim light surrounding him and when he could see properly, he found himself staring at an unknown ceiling. Still a bit groggy he mulled over the fact that it was remarkable how many different ceilings there existed. This one was constructed out of wood. With some difficulty, inwardly cursing the stiffness of his body, he managed to sit up. The bed and the walls of the room were as unfamiliar as the ceiling had been. He couldn't distinguish much of it in the diffuse light but what he saw didn't ring a bell. Where the hell was he and by whom had he been taken here?

Then he saw Hawke sleeping in a chair next to the bed and his new found breath hitched. Wherever he was, it wasn't in a hostile environment; Marian was here. She had come for him. She had come for him and found him and freed him. He couldn't remember it but her presence made it clear. He frowned when a fleeting remembrance pointed out a whiff of rosemary, just before or after that moment he lost his life. Before, apparently. He wouldn't be in this strange room otherwise, totally aware of his existence. He tried to concentrate on what was important. After all the utterly stupid and hurtful things he had thrown at her and the ultimate betrayal of running away from her, whatever his intentions might have been, she had searched for him and saved him. He couldn't even begin to imagine through how much trouble she had gone to do that. It made him feel warm and grateful and humble.

The door opened and he instinctively reached for his weapon that wasn't there. The short moment of panic passed when he saw Wynne entering the room. He put his finger to his lips, indicating at the sleeping Hawke. The Fereldan First Enchanter just nodded with a little understanding smile. She walked over to him and sat down on the bed.

'How are you feeling?' she whispered.

'Well enough. And alive to my amazement. Where am I?' he whispered back.

'In the royal palace. But I'll leave the story of the bold rescue-operation to Serah Hawke. Let it suffice to say you were taken prisoner by some Antivan merchants by order of a small group of Tevinter slavers.' She saw the sudden haunted look in his eyes and added, 'neither Danarius nor Hadriana had anything to do with it. It was pure coincidence or should I say a typical case of bad luck they spotted you at the docks.' She rose and poured a glass of water from an earthen jug sitting on a small table beside the bed. 'You must be thirsty,' she said, handing him the glass.

He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until he started drinking. She poured him some more water. When he had finished she put the glass back on the table.

'Fenris,' she began a little hesitantly, 'I know your feelings towards magic so I think it's just fair to tell I had no other choice than to apply it to heal you.'

He stared at her with an unfathomable look. 'And now you expect me to burst out in rage for the impertinence of saving my life?'

Wynne had to press down a chuckle. 'No Fenris, I didn't expect that. I only thought you ought to know. Now with that settled, if you wish you can freshen up in the bathing room at the back. Do you feel strong enough to do this on your own or do you need assistance?'

'I think I can manage.'

Wynne noticed his pace was steady when he walked to the bathing room. She fluffed up his pillows and sat down again. 'Yes I know,' she spoke softly after a while as if she was answering an invisible person. She rested her eyes upon Hawke's sleeping form. 'He was dying, even my healing abilities wouldn't have let him survive ...' She rubbed her face. 'I could not let it happen, it would have killed her. Their love is strong, it was worth it.' She tilted her head as if listening to a voice only she was able to hear. 'No. He must not know and neither must she. I am grateful for your help but they would not understand.' She let out a sigh. 'Yes, he will notice – something, I'm certain, but please don't disturb him too much. We will not converse about this again. What's done is done and I don't regret it.'

* * *

Fenris leaned back into the pillows. On Wynne's advice he had gone back to bed, she claimed he needed to rest but he didn't feel as tired as he should. She hadn't given much information about his injuries but he knew damn well he'd been in such a bad condition that death had been very close. He had not much experience with healing magic but enough to know that even a well skilled mage wasn't able to restore a battered and broken body to health this fast. Even Anders couldn't have accomplished that. He loathed the man but the one thing he was willing to accept was his healing capability. Normally he would put his swift recovery down to his markings but due to the enchanted bonds they still didn't work adequately. After some contemplation he decided to prod the subject no longer; perhaps Wynne was indeed extraordinary competent. Even more than Anders. He liked that idea.

He looked at Marian. She sat curled up, her legs tucked under her. Her head rested on a pillow propped up behind her shoulders, her face was half covered with locks of her hair that gleamed golden in the shimmering candlelight. She looked peaceful in her sleep and yet traces of sorrow and concern seemed to linger in her beautiful features. His doing, he thought remorsefully. The blanket that wrapped her frame had slipped and revealed a light blue tunic with long sleeves that covered her arms but on the other hand made no secret of her attractive breasts. In this position her cleavage was almost as inviting as the one the pirate queen so much liked to put on display. One sleeve had crawled up to her elbow. He saw a long pink scar of a freshly healed nasty cut running over her underarm and his stomach knotted. _Because of him._ He lost track of time watching her and at some point he realized dawn had broken; a faint light fell into the room through the half opened curtains. Suddenly she stirred and opened her eyes. She looked a bit blurred and puzzled as if she tried to figure out where she was but then her eyes widened in pleased surprise; they however immediately clouded over.

'Fenris! You're awake!' Her voice sounded happy but she looked wary. 'And you're sitting up! Are you feeling alright?' She bit her lip in a nervous way and her fingers fidgeted with the blanket. She smiled but he could see it wasn't genuine no matter how hard she tried.

'I'm fine,' he said carefully, wondering what her uneasy demeanour meant. He pushed back the sheets and coverlets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed to sit in front of her.

On her turn she threw off the blanket and stood up as if she recoiled from his likely touch. She stepped to the side table and reached for the glass and jug. 'Do you mind if I drink some of your water?' Her voice sounded strained.

'By all means, go ahead.' He got more anxious by the minute. 'What is wrong, Marian?' A nasty feeling started to turn his innards into ice. _She wants to leave you. _The irksome little voice was back.

She drank half a glass of water and sat down again, pushing her back hard against the chair. She looked at her hands lying idly in her lap, ostentatiously avoiding his penetrating concerned look. Her lips moved as if she wasn't certain what to say and was silently trying out some sentences. 'I'm so sorry Fenris, I know you hate it but Wynne had to use magic on you,' she blurted out. He was positive this was not the most important issue on her mind right now and that she had wanted to say something completely different.

'Yes, I know already and I don't mind,' he reacted with an impatient gesture, 'those days are behind me. Now tell me what's really bothering you. You have me worried.' _You know damn well what's bothering her. _You_ are, you idiot, or rather your stupid behaviour and stinging words. _That's_ what bothers her. She's just trying to find a way to tell you it's all over._

She clasped her hands together and pressed her lips. Her face twitched as if she was in great pain. She took a shuddering breath. 'I don't understand. Why are you so, so ... aren't you angry with me?' she finally managed; her voice sounded tense and tormented and very scared. 'I can't blame you if you are,' she added nearly audible.

This was the last thing he thought she would come up with. He was dumbstruck and for a few moments he didn't know what to say. He, angry with _her_?! 'Why in the name of all that's considered holy should I be angry with you?'

When she looked up her eyes were full of tears. 'I yelled at you, didn't want to hear your intentions and motivations, I said the most terrible things –'

'Marian –'

'I called you a coward!'

'I was a coward.'

'No!' she cried vehemently. 'You wanted to protect me, you set off to find that woman to prevent she would harm me. You were willing to give up your life and liberty for me and I called you a coward!' By now the tears were streaming freely down her face.

He bent towards her and took her hands in his. 'Marian, please look at me.' When she did he was deeply moved by the expression of sadness and despair on her face. 'How can I be angry with you? You didn't do anything wrong. As a matter of fact I feared _you_ would be the one being furious. I wasn't thinking straight the moment I ran out of that tavern. I hurt you. That regrets me more than I can say.'

She shook her head, her lips trembled. 'All the time I was only occupied by my own trepidations and always you were there for me.' She swallowed hard and tried heroically but in vain to stop her tears from gathering. 'And the moment you get pestered by your past I start screaming at you instead of being supportive.'

He tugged at her hands and she rose from the chair to sit down next to him. He cupped her face and wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. His lips brushed against hers. 'Please love, don't cry,' he whispered, 'you're being completely unfair, stop blaming yourself. You have been more than supportive every time I needed you.' He put his arms around her and she laid her head on his shoulder, leaning into him.

'When I found you I thought you were ... I thought I lost you,' she croaked, 'and that the last moments I saw you were spent on a stupid fight and horrible words.' He felt the shuddering of her body every time she took a breath. He gently stroked her back and pulled his fingers through her tangled hair in an attempt to calm her down.

'Are you leaving again?' she sniffed after a few minutes.

Shocked by her question he tilted her face and looked into her eyes. 'No. I'll never leave you again. I was a fool to do so.' He paused for a moment and then continued in a soft tone, 'The last thing I saw before I thought I passed away was your face. Your wonderful smile, your radiant eyes. I even imagined I felt your touch. I thought it was the last thing I would sense before I died and I was in peace.' He tenderly kissed her. 'I can't live without you, I never should have left in the first place.' He kissed her once more. 'I realised in that cage how much you mean to me. You have become a part of me, the most significant part.'

Marian took in his words with an enormous relief and growing happiness. He wasn't angry, he didn't reject her. And much more important, he was alive and awake and whole. Just a few hours ago she would have given anything for that. She embraced him and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing in his intoxicating scent of wild forest and sun stroked earth. She rubbed her cheek against his warm living skin and with the outflow of the anxiety and nervous tension, she felt the first pinpricks of arousal teasing her centre. She realized that now he turned out to be alive and still hers, she wanted badly to make love to him as an ultimate verification that this was all real.

Her hot breath swirled down his throat and he heard the subtle change in how she took in air, how it altered from fear and grief into want. He sensed a sudden and forceful twang of desire, a deep desire for her. He snuggled her neck and his mouth started to wander down her neck and collarbone, softly nibbling and biting, leaving pink spots in its wake. She closed her eyes when his hands shoved her shirt over her shoulders and trailed over her naked skin. He set her on fire with his touch.

'Are you up to this?' she whispered, 'you've hardly recovered –'

He silenced her by licking her earlobe with the tip of his tongue, making her shiver. 'I yearn for you,' he said hoarsely and the sound of his low voice composed out of rough velvet and molten dark sugar almost undid her, 'I'm more than up to this. Would you turn me away?'

'No,' she gasped and stopped breathing all together when his tongue explored her auricle, leaving her quivering like a powerless leaf in a storm, completely at the mercy of the elements. With an eager motion he relieved her of the thin garment and at the same time removed her breast band. He took her with him in his arms when he lay back on the bed and stooped over her body. She tugged at his shirt and he was all too happy to get rid of it. His lips returned to her neck, nuzzling her skin, travelled down her throat to her breasts and closed around a nipple, making her moan after she'd found her breath again. His hands trailed down her frame, following her curves, fondling her soft, warm body. His fingertips worshipped her abdomen, her sides, her hips and ended up drawing circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He made short work of her smalls and revelled in her exited reaction. When he reached for her moist folds she arched her back and uttered a throaty grunt.

'Don't stop,' she panted, 'please don't stop.'

'I live to please,' he murmured and softly dragged his lips and tongue along her breasts. He pushed tantalisingly slow a finger into her inviting and craving centre and at the same time started to stimulate her sensitive nub. Her body responded with an eagerness that even overwhelmed herself. She went taut as a bowstring when her whole body started to tingle and after that seemed to get filled with liquid electricity. Within merely moments she became a shuddering whirlpool of ecstasy while every sinew added to this crushing orgasm. It seemed to take ages before she finally descended from her height.

'I love you,' she wept, desperately clutching on to him, 'I love you so much.'

He held her in his arms and kissed away her new but this time liberating tears. 'And I love you,' he breathed.

When she at last had come to her senses she flipped him and put her hands on his chest. His ribs were still tender but so was she. Her fingers caressed his skin with a teasing lightness and feathered over his flat nipples. She stooped over him to catch his mouth in a scorching kiss. Their tongues twirled hungrily around each other and he buried his fingers in the flesh of her hips. Her hands moved down his torso, as did her greedy mouth, peppering him with soft kisses until she reached her goal. She ripped off his smallclothes and flicked her tongue over his exposed swollen tip. She closed her lips around it with a strong grip and slowly started to suck him, taking him in deep. He let out a tormented cry and called out her name, followed by a string of incomprehensible Tevene words while she continued her ministrations in an enticing slow way. When he thought he couldn't take it any longer, she abandoned his shaft with one last long lick. She placed wet kisses on his groin, his abdomen, his chest, finding her way to his mouth again. She straddled him and took his hardened length in her hand, guiding him inside her wet, tight sheath while her tongue again entered his mouth. The both gasped out loud, breathing in each other's air. She framed his face and rested her cheek against his, her erect nipples touched his chest. As at the first time they made love, they lay still for one perfect moment, connected in more than one way. The only sound was their fast shallow, irregular breathing.

And then something amazing and incomprehensible happened.

Behind his closed eyes he all of a sudden could see her mind flashing up in bright unknown, indescribable colours, twirling like a ribbon in a playful breeze, dancing towards him, touching him, intertwining with him. It seemed that as if he would reach for it, he could literally make contact with her psyche, her mere essence of being, that he could trace his fingers along her inner self. He blended with her, in an all-embracing fusion, a melting of two persons becoming one entity. It was so freighting at first that he almost recoiled but when he dared to yield to this astonishing and marvellous sensation, he felt pure love and devotion near to a religious and sacred experience. As a revelation. He succumbed to it completely without reservations.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible, feeling every inch of her naked skin against his. His lips found the spot behind her ear and he drank in her feminine perfume of arousal He felt her drenched centre in a forceful clasp around him and then she started to move. Every contact with her, every feeling seemed to get enlarged. He lost himself entirely when she pushed him deeper inside her with every thrust.

'Mea carea, voltiatem pendutas in tua,' he groaned, 'cupiadem sa fortatim. Tue edderem per agaterias.'*

She didn't know what his words meant but understood without any trouble every syllable as his voice entered her ears and filled her very essence, her very being, her very existence. He _was_ her existence. He totally filled her in every way, occupied her body and soul and spirit. When the overwhelming feeling hit her she almost pulled away out of pure mortal fear of what was happening but when she found the courage to surrender to it, she got drenched with an enormous feeling of utmost completion. She had never experienced something like this before, not even with him. She could feel what he felt, see into his mind and she found nothing but love and dedication.

When he exploded, he helplessly clung onto her while she again got swept away. Wide eyed she collapsed on his chest, struggling for breath and sanity. He held on to her forcefully, all lingering pain forgotten. After a while he turned onto his side, keeping her close to him. For a long time they lay in each other's intense embrace, limbs entangled, both unable to say anything. A few times he tried to speak but he couldn't find the proper words, or any words at all to express what he had sensed. So he stayed silent but for the ragged breathing that only slowly evened out.

When he was able to think again, he remembered the first time he and Marian made love, how his memories almost had driven him away from her, had threatened to take the best of him, to deny her. He shuddered at the remembrance. This experience had almost been the same. His memories hadn't returned – he still had flashes, some lingered, most fled but he no longer feared them.

No, this had been different. Much more powerful. He couldn't find words for it. Overwhelming didn't start to express this sensation. Enchantment perhaps but that didn't cover what he felt either. Other than their first time together he didn't have the urge to flee and hide, rather the opposite. This, after he had rapidly conquered the panic that had made a good effort to choke him, only emphasized how he completely lost himself in her, eagerly submitted to her. He belonged to her and she to him.

They were one.

* * *

***Fenris's words don't mean anything in an existing language as far as I know; I just made them up. In English it would sound something like: 'My beloved, I want to drown in you, I love you so much. I'm yours forever.'**

**I know I promised I would go on writing about the ring and runes and such but I'm afraid I got a bit carried away by this chapter. I hope you won't be too angry ... nevertheless thank you for reading!**


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